


Where the Rats Race

by Muscarie



Category: Better Call Saul (TV)
Genre: F/M, Los Pollos Hermanos, Multi, Slow Burn, Unrequited Love, because he's worth it, yes this is a nacho fanfiction
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-26
Updated: 2018-09-27
Packaged: 2018-10-11 02:45:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 14
Words: 33,478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10453212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Muscarie/pseuds/Muscarie
Summary: A waitress accidentally witnesses the cartel in the middle of some shady deal. Nacho is tasked with making sure she stays quiet.Not exactly the best start to a romance.





	1. The Worst Start

**Author's Note:**

> Ok so, I've seen lots of people complaining there isn't much Nacho fanfiction out there, and I've got a case of the writer's block, so I thought I'd give it a shot. This could be very short lived, or who knows, it may live on.  
> I don't know who Gus Fring is, but from what I've seen so far in the trailers I'd expect him to inspire me in later chapters, should there be any. In the meantime, here's the worst start to a love story, ever.

She probably could not have met him under worst circumstances - it was completely doomed from the start. Was an actual miracle she did not run away at the very sight of him.

In fact, despite what the girls at Pepe's Diner, her week job, and the girls at Los Pollos Hermanos, her weekend job, had kept telling her, she would never have guessed he liked her, hell, she didn't even used to think he tolerated her! Plus, she was hardly cartel gangster girlfriend material. Not that she actually knew what these looked like.

And yet, against all odds, one night as all his cartel mates and him were rather drunk and Pepe was starting to get desperate to shut the diner, he'd grabbed her hand as she passed his table and he'd confirmed them all, all those crazy rumours. Needless to say he'd scared her shitless by grabbing her in the first place.

Mila Kolesar was a foster kid. Her dad, a Serb immigrant, though refugee may be the better word, had looked after her until he'd got himself sent to prison. After her dad was taken away, she'd been in foster care, then she'd moved and had become a waitress at Pepe's Diner. Later, she'd also started working at Los Pollos Hermanos, on a Saturday.

She liked it here in New Mexico. She liked the heat, the sunshine, the big open spaces, the stillness, the dust. It was nothing like where she'd come from.

Everything was fine. Some of the girls complained about it being boring, working at Pepe's, and dreamed of going away, seeing mountains and the snow and the sea. Not Mila. She liked that nothing happened. She liked it quiet, boring, calm. She liked the routine, the absence of surprises. That was all fine by her.

One Thursday night, a few months ago, as she was taking out the trash all the way to the cans at the back of the diner, she'd stumbled across a scene that was not calm, not quiet, not routine.

There were five men, dark, wearing shirts and big pointy shoes, standing around something on the floor. The something was a man, though one look at his bloodied lip and the guns in the other men's hands was enough to convince Mila that she did not want to know what was happening. She needed to disappear, like she was never there in the first place. 

Too late.

Her eyes caught one of the standing men's, and she scurried away, though not fast enough for them not to get a good look at her face.

Mila got back inside, finished her shift, all the while convinced she'd see those men come through the front door any second, but nothing. Then she'd got into her car, throwing anxious looks around in the darkness, and she'd got home and locked the door. Still nothing. She had started to relax.

About three nights later, she'd walked out of the shower, got into her towel, then she'd met Nacho.

He'd grabbed her from behind, a hand over her mouth and the other painfully twisting her arm. They'd exchanged a look in the mirror above the sink. Her, tearful and panicked, and him, cool and harsh. She'd recognised him instantly - he was the guy she'd locked eyes with.

Two seconds later she was against the wall, his hand still on her mouth, a finger pointed at her face as he looked straight into her eyes.

"You rat," he said, "and I'll come back. I know where you work, I know where you live, I know when you get in the shower, remember that."

She'd barely managed to catch her towel before it fell off of her as he'd let her go, and walked out of her place like it was never even locked in the first place. It'd taken hours for her to stop crying hysterically.

That was a year ago.

Since then, things have changed. Pepe and Tuco have become partners. Tuco pays Pepe to let the cartel pass merchandise through them, and host their deals at the diners, and Pepe lets them eat and drink for free. This means Mila has to put up with a lot more Nacho. And suddenly, the cartel men are all friendly to them. They call the waitresses by their first names, say thank you, smile at them in an almost non creepy way. Everyone was weary, at first, then they'd sort of got used to it and now all the other girls have a bit of a chat with the guys when they come. It turned fully amicable the time when Carmen, the most charming of all of the diner's waitresses, got a beating from her ex husband, and the cartel jumped to her rescue, beating the guy to a pulp. Since then, Pepe had not had to face any accusatory looks from his staff. They fancy they all have their favourite, who favours them too, and everyone seems to think Nacho is very much into Mila. He looks at her, apparently. All the time, when she can't see him. He sits in her section of the diner. He speaks really softly to her. He hands her plates and glasses when she clears his table. He tries to listen in when she's speaking to someone else. When she's not there, apparently, he asks about her. 

Mila, however, has not forgotten. She's not forgotten him pressing against her back as she stood there defenceless and almost naked, his mean eyes as they bore into hers, his breath over her face, his skin over her mouth, his threats, and the gun in his hand as he stood above some poor guy, near the Diner's bins. She's not forgotten, and she's sure as hell not forgiven. He terrifies her. For weeks, she couldn't get into her bathroom without having a minor panic attack. For months, she'd showered in a bathing suit. For a year now, she jumps at the slightest noise, at night. And she still has nightmares about him, and his guys. She hates them for corrupting the diner, making them all involved in their schemes. They've destroyed her quiet routine. Nasty people.

Mila has not noticed any kind of attention from Nacho, and if really there is extra attention on his part, it's due to his threats: he's warning her not to rat. Maybe he can tell she's the weak link. The only reason why she has neither moved away nor spoken out by now, is precisely because she is so frightened of what Nacho and the rest might do to her to make sure she stays quiet.

"He's looking at you right now," whispers Carmen to Mila one lunchtime at the diner.

"So what?"

"He likes what he sees," smirks Carmen, and Mila rolls her eyes. It's August, and she's wearing shorts today, with her Pepe's Diner t-shirt.

"Well, I don't like what I see when I look at him, so I don't care."

"You're harsh, he's attractive. Oh, hello, there..."

Carmen walks away, because she's spotted Tuco, and he always tips her heavily.

She's not being harsh. Mila truly does not find him attractive. She can see how someone else might, sure, but she's not at all into this- this tough guy look. He annoys her, with his excessively muscled gangster chest, religiously ironed gangster shirts, carefully cleaned gangster boots, shiny gangster chain and watch.... Not to mention the whole macho, bully attitude that goes with his line of work. 

She's not at all one for that kind of look. She'd much rather date a guy with a 'dad bod ', who drives a family car, says bad jokes, and wears socks in his sandals. A guy with no hint of violence in him.

And finally, there's the fact that she cannot get a good night's sleep because of him, of how much he's terrified her, and continues to.

She leaves dirty dishes on Nacho's table for as long as she can before she has to accept the fact that no one else is going to clear them away. When finally it is no longer acceptable for her to wait, Mila steels herself. She breathes in, out. Tries to calm her beating heart. Shakes her head at the memory of him in her bathroom. Then her feet move and she has to follow. Clutching her tray, chin high, back straight, she does not look at him. She focuses on her task. There's two guys with him, one with a ponytail, and a big bald one. They all go quiet when she reaches the table. Great, she thinks, I've probably interrupted some sort of secret gangster conversation. Bet they're talking about skinning some poor dude alive.

"Excuse me," she squeaks, gathering plates and cups with trembling hands.

Someone is passing them to her, could be Nacho. Probably is him. "Thank you," she whispers, hurrying to fill her tray, still not looking up. "Can I get you anything else?"

"Mila," says one of the guys, the one with a ponytail, and she jumps. How do they know her name? Do they know her name? Of course they know her name. It's on her fucking badge.

"Yes?"

"Nice day, don't you think?"

"Yes."

"You doing anything after this?"

"More of this."

They chuckle, and she gives them a strained, tight smile before hurrying off, forcibly ending the conversation.

"He certainly likes looking at you when you walk away, that one," mumbles Pepe to Mila as she reaches the dishwashers. He's clearing his kitchen, not expecting many more lunch orders now. 

"Mm-mm," she responds, avoiding the comment. Pepe too, now?

"So... You interested?" He pushes, so ill at ease it could be funny. Has Carmen put him up to this?

"No."

"Right." He waits a whole five seconds. "Why not?"

"Just because."

The worst thing is, she can't even tell them. She cannot even explain to them why Nacho really is looking at her, like a hawk with a mouse, and why she'd never, ever, be interested in any form of non-professional interaction with him. If she told them, he'd hurt her, she's sure of it.

 

So, she says nothing. She doesn't rat.

And when he walks up to the counter, she disappears into the kitchen, until he gives up and leaves.

And when she reaches home, late at night, she runs inside and locks the door and pulls the heavy sofa across it, like she's been doing for over a year now.

Then she barricades the bathroom door, and has a shower.

Then she barricades the bedroom door, and goes to sleep.

That's the new routine, thanks to him.

Nacho.

What kind of a stupid fucking name is that?


	2. A New Job

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I've now found out who Gus Fring is. And I love him. In this chapter, Mila gets a weirdly great job offer, and she gets ambushed in the desert.  
> Spoiler: this chapter contains a cliffhanger. DUN DUN DUUUUUUUN

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading :)

Saturday is Los Pollos Hermanos day.

Mila does a double shift there, and gets a free meal. She takes some extra food home, too. She smells of fried chicken and fries when she gets into her car. The pay is slightly lower than at the Diner, and the work is a bit harder. She's always on her feet, and there's always a customer, not like at the Diner when you can sometimes pretend to take the bins out and then have a bit of a chill out, when no one is around. It's very customer centred. You always have to be nice, smiling, and whatever the customer says goes, even if it's complete and utter bullshit. You wear the uniform, not shorts. The manager is alright, but she takes her job very seriously,and she's always on everyone's back. Especially when the owner is around.

The owner is called Mr Fring. He's tall, slim, black, wears glasses. Whenever he's in, he doesn't just stay in his office and count numbers, no, he goes round, serves customers, asks them how they're doing and if everything is to their satisfaction. Mila likes Mr Fring. Of course, in her head he remains the boss, therefore not a friendly face, but she likes his professionalism, and his civilised demeanour. He wears a shirt and tie, and is always very polite. She likes that. She steers clear out of his path, but she does like him. He's a good boss. Seems a nice guy. She knows you don't get to be the boss by remaining a nice guy, but still, Mr Fring seems pretty decent.

Nalani, the manager, sweats profusely on the day when Mr Fring is around, and she always goes after everyone, checking everything they do, insisting they redo their hair or strengthen their shirts. This Saturday is one of these days.

Mila goes about her business, just takes care to be even quicker than usual.

"Here you go, enjoy your meal!" She chants with a smile as she hands her meal to some lady who doesn't look twice.

"Mila," Nalani is breathing down her neck. Mila can smell the sweat dripping from her forehead. "That table over there is filthy, and I can't see Jake anywhere, can you go clean it? I'll do a bit of till."

Mila obeys, thankful for the change. 

She grabs the cleaning products and goes over, a smile plastered over her face, as if the whole restaurant was looking at her. That's what Mr Fring always tells them - smile like everyone is looking.

She's half way through gathering bits of food and spraying the table with antibacterial stuff when a voice, deep, calm, poised, erupts next to her.

"You're doing a good job there."

She knows who it is before she turns her head, eyes wide, like a rabbit caught in headlights.

Mr Fring is standing at a respectable distance, and he is smiling at her. She wants to tell him that it's not that hard a job to clean a table, but she doesn't dare.

"Thank you." She replies awkwardly.

Not knowing what else to do, she returns to her cleaning, with Mr Fring standing there the whole time, staring at her. She does a quick yet thorough job, smiling all the time, so much so her cheeks hurt. When she's done, he runs a finger along the glossy table top and lifts it so they both see it is immaculate.

"Perfect. Excellent job."

"It's not that difficult a job," she mumbles, blushing.

"Cleaning a table?" He lets out a chuckle. "No, indeed. But doing it with a smile..." He lifts an eyebrow at her, friendly.

"Thank you," she repeats. Then again, because she doesn't know what else to do, Mila smiles even harder and starts walking away.

"Mila, is it?" He calls softly after her.

"Yes?"

"Mila... Kolesar. How long have you been working with us, Mila?"

"About eight months, I'd say."

"This long already?" He sounds impressed. She has no idea where this is going. Is he trying to figure her out? Let her know who's boss? "And you only work Saturdays?"

"Yes," then she quickly adds: "sir."

"Call me Gus." His smile is warm, reassuring, understanding. "Would you like to add some days?"

"I would, but I uh, I already work somewhere else during the week."

"Where is that?"

"Pepe's Diner?"

"Ah yes," there's a fleeting look in his eyes, like he's trying to watch her a bit more intently. "I see."

He's looking at her straight in the eyes, and she wonders if he knows it's a cartel hideout, and if he's wondering if she knows that. She looks down, embarrassed, starts walking again.

"Do you like it there?" He asks, stopping her.

"It's alright. Thank you."

"Do you prefer working here or there?"

She almost wants to snort. As if she had a choice of answer!

"Here, sir."

"Gus, please. Does it pay better than here?" He says that in the tone of confidence, like he's not the owner at all, just some friendly face on the street.

"A little bit," she admits.

"Well, that can be easily remedied." She blinks. Is he saying he'd pay her more to get her to work here? "I can offer you... Fifty cents more an hour than what Pepe is paying you, plus all the chicken you can eat. You can have your weekend too. If you decide to work here full time during the week."

"Seriously?" She blurts out, almost rudely.

"Seriously." 

"Why?"

"I've watched you for a few weeks now," he explains, casually. "You work well, you don't take breaks, you're fast, hygienic, polite, and you have this way about you that seems to calm angry customers down. The others have noticed that too, that's why they always send you to the front line when people like the Kellermans are here. Good, reliable employees are hard to come by, especially in this line of work, where everything is temporary." He smiles. "Consider yourself headhunted, Mila."

Mila is speechless. For a while, all she is able to do is stand there stupidly, frowning in confusion and disbelief.

"Seriously?" She repeats at last.

"I am very serious," he insists, almost laughing. "Why don't you take a couple of days to think about it, hm? Pepe is a friend, I can tell him myself if you like. This is my number." He hands her what must be a business card. "Let me know. Oh and, Mila? You're from... Serbia, is that right?"

"Yes. Well, Kosovo. I speak Serbian."

He nods. 

"Let me know." And then he goes.

 

Later that day, Mila finally gets to return to her car and leave. She's about half way across the hill, in the dark, when her car starts spluttering and shuddering and eventually comes to a stop.

"Shit."

She tries to start the engine again, and it refuses angrily, then a load of steam or smoke comes up from underneath the hood. 

"Shit."

Mila gets out of the car. It's dark, now. Cold. She doesn't know how to fix a car. Pulling her phone out, she has a look at her contacts. There's exactly three of them. Four, if you count Mr Fring. There's her dad's prison, Carmen from the Diner, James McGill, her dad's lawyer (he'd not saved him from prison, but he had somehow managed to convince the jury not to deport the man), and Mr Fring. That's it.

Mila briefly considers ringing Mr Fring, then selects Carmen.

It rings about five times before she picks up.

"Yeah?"

"Carmen?"

"Speaking?"

"It's Mila."

"Mila?!"

"Mila from the Diner."

"I know who you are, Mila, how you doing?"

"Well... Not too great. My car's broken down about halfway along that road over the hill, from Los Pollos Hermanos to where I live, I'm stuck."

"Oh damn, that's bad."

"Yeah... I'm sorry to be calling you, I literally have no idea what to do. Maybe I should just walk home? Do you know like a garage number or something?"

Carmen goes quiet for a while.

"Carmen?"

"I'm still here, yes, oh damn Mila that's bad! I know a guy yeah, tell you what, I'll give him a ring and he'll come fix your car for you, how's that?"

"Wow, really? That's great, thanks!"

"Yeah, he's really good."

"What's his name?"

She marks a pause.

"Err... Ignacio."

"How much will it cost, do you think?"

"He'll do you a good price, don't worry." She sounds weirdly excited.

"Does he do credit?" Asks Mila, but Carmen has already hung up.

And Mila is alone. It's completely pitch black in the desert, now, and really quite cold. She crosses her arms over her Pollos top.

Somewhere in the distance, something cries out. Mila wonders if that's a coyote. Then she hears another cry, much closer to the car. She gets in. To hell with coyotes.

She waits about twenty five minutes. 

Eventually, headlights appear in the distance, driving slow. 

Then what turns out to be a van stops close to her car, and she sees a silhouette come out.

Mila gets out of her car.

"Hi!" She calls. "Ignacio, is it? I'm Mila, did Carmen ring you?"

"Yeah."

Oh no. She recognises that voice. It's the voice from her nightmares, she'd recognise it anywhere. Ignacio my ass. 

The man gets closer, and she recognises the strong shoulders, the stupid shirt, the stupid gangster shoes.

It's him.

Nacho.


	3. Car Trouble and Stunning Stupid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a deal is struck. Or is it?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so, so, so much if you are reading. And a big thanks to thirst who took the time to review this sorry little story.   
> Hope you enjoy :)

Mila's initial reaction is to take a good few steps back in haste. She knocks into her mirror by accident, no doubt leaving a blue bruise on her hip. She turns to look out into the dark, wondering whether to run or not.

"I wouldn't go too far out there if I were you," he says. "Coyotes?" He adds, when she looks at him. He's walking towards her, slow.

"Are you here to kill me?" 

In the dark, blinded by his lights, she cannot see his facial expression - but he stops dead in his tracks.

"I didn't say anything," she presses, "to anyone. At all."

"That's not why I'm here." He sounds almost hesitant, points to her car. "You called me?"

"What?"

"That waitress from the Diner, she said you were asking if I could come pick you up? Said you had car trouble?"

"What? No!" She's frowning, shaking her head vehemently. "I called her to see if she knew a garage or something. My car has broken down. She said she knew this guy called Ignacio."

"That's me."

"You're Nacho."

"That's not my actual name." 

Bastard. She could hear the smile in his voice. She just opted to scowl in his general direction.

"My name is Ignacio Varga. People call me Nacho." He's moved forward, and it takes her a moment to process that he's holding out his hand to her.

"We have met before, remember?" She says, cold as ice. He drops his hand.

"Yeah... About that-"

"Look, I'm sorry you came all the way out here, I never thought it would be you. Like I said, my car broke down, Carmen said her friend Ignacio could fix it, I didn't know it was you. I'm fine, I'll figure something out."

And I'll kill Carmen next time I see her.

"You'll figure something out?"

"Yeah."

"Right. Ok." She's certain, certain she can feel the smirk on his face. She'd smack him if she wasn't half as terrified of him as she is. "Since I'm here, mind if I take a look?"

"Honestly, it's fine. Do you even know cars?"

"I know a bit."

He walks back to his van, and moves it slightly so it faces the steaming front of her car. Then he gets back out, and walk over to it. Standing by the side so as not to hide the light with his own back, he lifts the bonnet up and starts looking around. His face is fully in the light now and Mila takes a good look at him. How weird, she thinks, to be this close to the man who haunts your dreams, and not in a pleasant way.

"Yeah," he says, unaware, standing back up and looking up to her. "Looks quite serious actually. I don't think I'd be able to fix it now. It's late, as well."

"Do you know a mechanic I can call then, maybe?"

"My dad is a mechanic. Kind of. I don't think anyone would be able to fix that out here though." He shakes his head, looking at the engine. "Looks like you'd need all the proper equipment. Look, I can call the guys at my dad's for you, get them to pick it up tomorrow and fix it, what do you say?"

"...ok. Thanks. I'll just..." She starts walking to her car, already deciding to spend the night in it.

"I'll drive you home." He says quickly. "It's not safe out here."

"Because of the coyotes?" She's said that with acid in her voice, fairly certain he's mocking her.

"Yeah. And the snakes. Not to mention all the junkies that meet out here at night."

She raises an eyebrow, trying to gauge whether he is playing her or not, looking for a smirk, but he keeps his poker face on.

"How do I repay you for the lift?" Mila asks hesitantly. She cannot agree to anything before she actually knows what she is agreeing to exactly.

"Dinner?"

He's said that quickly, almost too quick to catch.

"Dinner?" She repeats, incredulously.

He nods, poker face impeccable.

"Right." She fishes into her pocket, pulls out her wallet. There's $45 in there. "Here. That should cover dinner, no? It's all I've got with me."

For the first time ever, he seems to lose his composure, taken aback. He stares at the money she's handing him.

"What's that?" He asks her, laughing nervously, crossing his arms.

"Dinner. Take it."

"That's not what I-"

"It's all I've got. It's $45, how fancy a dinner are you wanting exactly? I can give you more tomorrow. Or tonight, if we stop by the cashpoint...."

"No," he steps back, holding his hands up. "That's not what I meant. I meant, you can repay me by coming to dinner. With me." When she fails to respond, he adds: "I'd pay."

Truth is, she'd suspected that. Obviously that's what he'd meant. She'd just tried dodging the offer by stunning him with her stupid. Hadn't worked. She retracts her hand, and the money.

"Just dinner?"

"Yeah."

She's about to ask him why, but does take pity on him at the last second. Also, she's tired, and she wants to get home now.

"What about just a drink, instead?"

"Ok," he nods, seemingly at a loss for words, then gestures for her to get in his van.

She gets in.

The drive is silent, broken only by his two questions ("do you work at Los Pollos on a Saturday?", and "does it pay better than Pepe's?") and her two single syllabled answers ("yes", and "no"). He stops trying.

They get to her house.

"Ok," he breathes out. "Here you go. I'll get my guys on your car first thing in the morning, and I'll get them to drop it off at yours when it's fixed."

"Thank you. How much will it cost, do you think?"

He shrugs. "45 bucks?""

Mila looks at him, but rolls her eyes when she sees his mocking smile.

"Just let me know."

She steps out of the van.

"Here," he calls out, handing her a torn piece of paper. There's a number on it, and a name. Nacho. "Call me, about that drink."

"Sure."

She walks without turning back, but doesn't hear him drive away until after she's entered her house and locked the door behind her. After a moment's hesitation, she saves Nacho's number in her phone.

She now shares the house with two other people: Jesse, who's never around, and some lady called Devonne, who now more or less lives at her boyfriend's, 90% of the time. Mila had taken flat mates on thinking they would help her keep safe, and save on rent, but the both of them are hardly ever there. She can tell when Jesse has been in because he always uses the shower before leaving again. She's seen him once: he's handsome at first, but then he opens his mouth, and the charm is ruined forever. He pays his share, though. So does Devonne, even though she doesn't actually live there. "I like to keep my options open," she'd said once, winking at Mila.

On Sunday, her car is parked outside her house by lunchtime. The guys who dropped it off wave her thanks away and assure her it only took two seconds to fix. They refuse her money, adamant it's already sorted.

Mila lets Sunday pass, and Monday, then Tuesday, before she picks up her phone. She does not call Nacho however, but Mr Fring, hitting voicemail.

"You have reached Gus Fring, I am not available at the moment, please do leave a message and I will ring you back as soon as I can."

"Hello, Mr Fring, it's Mila Kolesar. You... On Saturday you said you had a job offer for me, and I thought I'd take it, if it's still standing?" She leaves him her number and hangs up. She'd see Nacho a lot less if she worked at Los Pollos Hermanos and not the Diner. Maybe after a while he'd even forget about her. Maybe, if she waited enough, he'd forget about their little deal. It's not like she's worth it, surely! Plus, Carmen wouldn't be able to meddle as much.

In retrospect, she's just plain pissed off at Nacho. What does he think? He's earned a few hours of her time? For driving her? He actually thinks that? And now that he's sorted her car out, what does he expect? A day? A blowjob?

If they're going to start thinking like that, she'd say the least he owes her is to fix her car. He's ruined her life, he's the one in debt here, not her!

He shows at the Diner on Friday, her last day, right after her goodbye hug from Carmen, but she leaves out the back door before he's even managed to spot her. To hell with him, she thinks. He's a douche. An asshole. He thinks he can earn stuff from her? She's not a whore.

This angry little rant goes on and on in Mila's mind, until she runs out of steam and is forced to face the fact that she would never dare tell him any of that in real life. And so, she runs. Out of the back door, like a thief, like she's the guilty one.

As she pulls out of the car park , she sees him through the window, talking to Pepe, probably asking where she is. She drives off.

They wouldn't tell him where she's gone, right?

And if they do, so what? He can't actually be that interested in her boring, fat little self to chase her all the way to Los Pollos Hermanos, can he?


	4. A Missed Opportunity for a Grand Exit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which various problems catch up with Mila.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There shall be a lot more Nacho/Mila interactions from now on.
> 
> Thanks a lot for reading, and for letting me know if you enjoy it :) hope the next chapters don't disappoint.

Nacho gives her a full week and a half before challenging her silence. He must have decided that ten days and no news meant she was not actually intending to go for a drink with him after all.

It's after her shift that he'll show up, and Mila will have had a very a long day by then.

She's worked hard, as usual, because Mila is someone who is so awkward in casual social contexts that she will actively avoid situations where interaction with peers is inevitable, such as breaks. She does not do chit chat. She wishes she could, but she simply is not able to come up with pleasant, friendly talk like others seem to do effortlessly. Mila knows it probably means she is an awful person, but she also tends to get bored of conversations very quickly, and she's a bad actress. So, to avoid social contexts where she may be asked to contribute to the conversation, or worse, be asked about herself, or worse even, asked out for a staff get together, Mila tends to avoid taking breaks altogether. People think it's weird at first, but then they either decide that she's a goody two shoes, or that she's very poor and needs the money. Mila's fine with either explanation.

At lunch though, Nalani made her stop, and forced her to go get her phone and have a look through whilst she eats, 'to relax'.

So Mila did.

She has no internet on her phone (she wouldn't know what to look at anyway), so she pretends to open it and look at it. That's when the surprise arrives.

There's three missed calls, and a voicemail.

All from James McGill, her dad's lawyer.

The voicemail is asking to ring him back.

Nervous, because she doesn't like surprises, and because James McGill often speaks in idioms and she struggles with idioms, Mila rings back.

The lawyer picks up immediately.

"Hello, James McGill, attorney at law?"

"Hi, Mr McGill, it's Mila Kolesar here, you've been trying to call me?"

"Aaah! Miss Kolesar!" He sounds so ecstatic, and she hears his chair scrape the floor as he stands. "How are you? Thank you so much for getting back to me."

"Ok, you're welcome. Is it my dad?"

"Well... Let's not jump straight into business, shall we? How's the uh, the video shop going, last I saw you I think you'd just started working part time, whilst doing high school. How's business?"

"It's... It's ok, I guess, uh, I don't work there anymore."

"No?"

"No, um, I work at Los Pollos Hermanos now. Is it to do with my dad?"

"At Los Pollos, wow! I heard they do a chicken burrito that's to die for, how long have you been working there?"

"I started today," she lies curtly, annoyed, "is it about my dad then or not?"

"Alright, then, let's cut to the chase."

She can so picture him gesturing as he spoke.

"Your father, has got himself into a little bit of trouble lately, in prison."

"Trouble?" Her hands are cold now. "What kind of trouble?"

"Well, not much, just a little bit of trafficking between inmates, this sort of thing, nothing that's not been going on since forever in the uh, the uh, the prison system. However, your father got caught, you see, and he refused to denounce his associates, as one would, you know, your father has a high sense of duty and loyalty..."

"He's in prison. For selling stolen stuff to kids."

"Yes, well, honour amongst thieves, right?" He clears his throat, and she's sure he's holding his chin now, a nervous reaction. "Well, the judge didn't take too kindly to that, and they've been wanting to extend his sentence, by six years or so. Now, your father, understandably, does not want to have an extended sentence, and he's asked me to represent him personally. I have gone private now, as you may know... To cut the story short, I've managed to talk the jury into only adding a year to his sentence, and raising his bail."

"Wow," says Mila, genuinely impressed. She's looking at the clock now, it's the end of lunch.

"Yes, thank you, but you see, um... That was last month, and your father has not paid me yet."

Oh.

"You see, miss Kolesar, uh, Mila, if I may, I am not one to pester clients, and in this case, really, this was all more of a favour to a friend, but it does cost, you know-"

"How much does he owe you?"

"Well... I'll knock some of the expenses off, and I'll give him a 5% reduction... So that's about $4,312.75."

Wow.

"I'm not asking you for the money, but I thought perhaps you may broach the topic with your dad, you know, when you visit..."

"I don't visit him, I-" Mila looks around, a bit lost. It's time to go back to work. "I'll pay. Can you give me..." She does a quick calculation of what she's saved already and what she's earning at the moment. "Two months?"

"Sure," he sounds relieved, happy again. "Sure, sure, that's... That's very uh, responsible and-"

"ok, I have to go. I'll call you in two months. Is cash ok?"

"S-sure, sure,-"

"Bye."

 

So,Mila gets back to work. And she asks about additional shifts. Nalani gives her a stern, steady look, for what seems like an eternity, then she shakes her head and says "well, Gus is going to love you, that's for sure."

It's after that shift that Nacho shows up.

It's sunset, and Mila is looking at the golden light in the horizon, waiting for it to turn orange, as she walks to her car.

"Nice view, huh?"

She flips round, and for a second his face is the same colour as the sky. Mila blinks the bright light away as she takes in the latest, most unpleasant surprise of the day.

"Nacho."

"Hi." He's leaning against a car, some dusty old thing, parked right next to hers. She looks at his face carefully, wondering if she should run back inside. He returns her look, but he's not showing any hostility. His face is open, and there's a shadow of a smile on his lips. He nods at the building behind her. "Los Pollos Hermanos, huh? That where you work now?"

"Yeah."

"Full time?"

"Yeah."

"Do you like it?"

"Yeah." She shoves her hands into her pockets, awkward. Her eyes wander over his car.

"Is that your car?" She asks.

"It is, yeah. I drive this or the van."

Mila looks at the dusty old vehicle and its mismatched tyres. She snorts, before she can catch herself.

"What?" He asks, though without anger.

"Nothing. Sorry."

"No, no, don't say sorry. What's so funny?"

He's raised his eyebrows at her, smiling frankly, so Mila thinks what the hell.

"It's just that it looks really... Normal."

"Normal?" He's surprised, she can tell.

"Yeah. Normal... I don't mean it in a bad way, I just... didn't think you'd drive that."

"No?" He crosses his arms, still smiling. "What did you think I'd drive?"

"I don't know," she shrugs. She's too tired to censure herself. "Some sort of massive four wheel drive, bright yellow, red leather seats, with a registration plate that'd say something like... 'Playuuuuuh'... Like something a pimp would drive. That kind of thing."

He laughs, the sound both alien and reassuring, shakes his head.

"Oh man, that sounds like something a six year old pimp would drive... Guess you really don't know me at all, do you?"

"I know enough."

He stops laughing. Pinches his lips together, looks down at his shoes, then scratches his chin and looks back up.

"Can I help you?" She says, as rudely as she can, walking to her car and dropping her bag on the passenger seat. He's too close to the other door for her to walk past him, so Mila stays on the passenger side of the car and looks at him above the roof.

"I never got a phone call," he says eventually. "About that drink we were gonna have?"

Mila shrugs. "Were you really expecting one?"

She's being so rude, she knows it, but what else is she supposed to do? Say sorry to the man who broke into her house and pinned her half naked to the wall, finger in her face, threatening her of god knows what if she talked? That's a question she'd like to ask him one day, what would he have done if she had spoken? Beat her? Rape her? Kill her? All three?

"Yeah," he chuckles somewhat humourlessly, "I guess I actually-"

"I don't owe you anything." She interrupts him. "I wasn't even gonna talk, that night, I wouldn't have said anything anyway. You..." And suddenly, the dams break open, and all flows out of her like lava. It comes out as an angry whisper. "You scared me, you scared me so, so bad, hell, you scarred me, I still can't get in my shower without wearing something, I block the front door with a sofa! And so what, one day you feel like giving me a ride, and suddenly I owe you?!" She laughs.

He's stunned into silence, and Mila quickly starts to feel very embarrassed. She's wondering if he's picturing her in a swimsuit, complete with goggles and cap, pushing a sofa across her front door. Not knowing what else to do, and not too keen on waiting to find out what he says or does next, she grabs her courage and storms round to the driver's door, brushing past him. She opens the door and gets in the car, slams the door shut. She shoves the key in, turns harshly. The car shudders to life.

Then it coughs and dies.

It won't start.


	5. The Deal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Calm before the storm. Damn, that Sabrosito was TENSE.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THANK YOU for reading if you are reading, and thanks especially to those taking the time to comment. I hope you enjoy the story. Sorry for the delay in update, I could not be happy with the chapter and kept coming back to it, plus I was busy, and now I'm not happy with it still but think I need to just get past it and move the story on. So, here it is. Next one should be better :)

Mila tries starting the engine again, and again, but it just won't cooperate.

Fuming, she jumps back out of the car and stands face to neck with Nacho, looking him straight in the eyes. She's so close he can smell her.

"Did you mess with my car?" She barks.

He cannot answer for a little while, because she's so close, and the sunset lights her face and hair, and for a little while it's like she isn't afraid of him.

She's solar, he's decided. That's the term. She radiates sunlight and warmth, and there's something soft about her, something pure, but strong, and he just feels this urge to be close to her and look after her. It's crazy. He sees everything he's never planned for, and it all makes sense. That's why he keeps insisting, even though she's made it pretty clear she's not interested. If only he could get her to know him, she'd see, she'd know they'd be well together. Which is hardly a known fact, because really he doesn't know much about her either. He feels like he does, just when he looks at her face he feels like he knows a lot of things, and nothing at all.

Then, she must realise how close they are, because the anger drains from her face and she backs away, round the side of her car and further away from him. That's when he can talk.

"No," he says, his voice rough. "I haven't done anything to your car. Do you want me to have a look?"

She shrugs, conflicted. Nacho has learnt to take any opportunity he gets, so he takes this as a yes and opens the bonnet. 

"I can't see anything wrong," he says at last. He points to the wheel. "Mind if I have a go?"

Another half shrug.

He gets into her car, turns the key in the ignition.

The car starts.

He looks up to her, and he can practically read the disgust and outrage on her face. Unable to stop the smirk from stretching his lips, he steps back out.

"Looks all good," he declares smugly.

"Thanks," she mumbles, looking at him. She's not daring to walk past him again. Nacho is about to move, when he is suddenly struck by inspiration.

"You're right, by the way. You don't owe me a thing. When I asked you out, I didn't mean to imply you owed me anything, I just... Wanted to ask you out. I'm the one who owes you, if anything." He opens his arms, meets his hands in front of his crotch. "I did as I was told," he tries to explain. "I didn't know who you were. I'd like to get to know you, and I think if you got to know me you'd see you have no reason to still be scared of me."

I'd never hurt you, he nearly says.

"Like I said, I'm the one in debt here. I'd like to repay you for... For not saying anything, and... And I'd like to apologise for what I did. May I buy you a drink?"

"A drink isn't going to cut it!" She snaps, exactly as he expected.

"Dinner, then?"

For a second there, Mila looks like she might either cry or shout, but his smile seems to have the intended effect and she begrudgingly returns it, shaking her head. Her eyes wander over the setting sun, the pink and blue skies.

"Alright." She says, and Nacho's heart makes an embarrassingly huge jump in his chest. "Dinner, then." She extends her hand, and for a split second he's thinking she wants him to hold it. He very, very nearly reaches out. "That'll be $45, thank you."

Damn, she's teasing him. They've actually got a bit of a private joke going on here. This is huge progress. His smile is wide and honest.

"Just kidding," she says. "You can buy me a drink."

"When?" He's still blocking her way, he knows, but there's no way Nacho is walking away now without a definite date agreed and decided. That way, she couldn't even cancel on him unless she phoned him, and them he'd have her phone number.

"Saturday?"

"Saturday," he nods. "What time?"

"8?"

"Saturday at 8," he says, finally moving away so she can safely return to her car. "I'll pick you up. You know, in my massive, bright yellow, red leather seats four wheel drive, with the registration plate that reads 'Playuuh'."

"Sure," another genuine smile, "I'll look out for it."

She gets into her car, gives him an awkward, three fingered wave, and drives off.

Nacho watches her go until the car is out of sight, then makes to get in his car when his eyes brush over the lit up windows of Los Pollos Hermanos. There's a man there, looking at him. Tall, slim, wears glasses. The man gives him a smile, which Nacho does not return, full mask back on.

 

Mila gets home and collapses into bed.

She sleeps without interruption, and spends the next couple of days in a state of semi fear, tinted with excitement. She'd not expected to agree to anything, but at the same time, he'd been kind of nice, and she guessed she could probably do with a tough 'friend', someone she could wave at the guys who used to work with her dad if they ever may come up to her saying he owed them money or something. Like it would have to become her problem. She already has the lawyer to pay.

Mr Fring is very nice with her, he asked to speak to her directly when he heard she was already asking for more hours. He questioned her in some office, asking why, and is she sure, and does she have a social life to keep her sane, and so on.

Mila just told him she needed money.

"May I ask, and please do not hesitate to tell me if I am asking too much, but what could be costing you so much money?"

Mila hardly hesitated before telling him.

"My dad has not paid his lawyer, and I said I would. I have most of the money saved up already, I just need to work a bit harder for a couple of months, and it will all be sorted."

"A lawyer?" 

"Yes." She'd been feeling like she shouldn't say anything else, but he's just got this way, this fatherly way about him, and Mila cannot resist kindness. "He's in prison, he um... He stole some stuff, after we moved to the States, and so he's in prison. We're lucky we weren't deported, really, they let us in because of the war...long story. I'm nothing like him." She quickly added.

"I do not doubt it," smiled Mr Fring. "And I agree to your request. Which prison is your father in, out of curiosity?"

"Just that one up those hills," shrugged Mila, waving in the general direction of the state prison.

"I see. Not the nicest prison, if I dare say. So, are we starting the extra shifts this weekend?"

"Yes. I mean, no. Could we do Saturday, and start Sunday next weekend? I uh, I forgot I had something planned for Saturday night."

"I see." He smiled. "Enjoy your night."

A few hours later, it's Saturday night.

Mila has gone home, she's showered, and now she faces a dilemma. To make an effort or not to make an effort? She doesn't exactly want to encourage him. If anything, she'd rather disgust him so much that he forgets all about her. But then again, she's got a bit of pride left, and she's not quite willing to let herself be ridiculed, by, for example, wearing bright orange dungarees and farting in his car. That'd work, though.

But, on the other hand, making a real effort to look good and be interesting might give him the wrong idea, and he might actually ask her out again. She wouldn't mind him as her "muscle friend", to use if she ever gets in trouble, or if her dad comes out of prison, but she's not at all keen on letting him believe that there could be anything more between them.

Torn, Mila opts for a half measure. She dresses normally, as she would if she'd been going out with Carmen, puts minimal make up on, brushes her hair, and decides that tonight she's going to be friendly, and talk to him as an equal, but not let herself be dragged into anything that may be interpreted as even remotely flirtatious. If anything, she'll try and behave with him like he's her cousin or something. Yeah. That'd be good. Get him to like her, but not like, like her. 

At 8, there's a knock on the door. He's bang on time.

Mila puts her pepper spray in her bag, and her extra strong flashlight (the one that has a 'Hit Girl' function and also some little teeth around the end of it, for hitting) in her jacket, grabs her keys and goes to the door. She makes a point of moving the sofa out of the way as loudly as she can, to make sure he hears it from the other side of the door.

"Hey,"he says, smiling softly. His eyes detail her outfit, and Mila moves fast, so as not to give him the chance to say anything nice about how she looks.

"Hey," she says, too loudly. "So, where are we going? Pepe's?" She locks the door and moves to his car immediately, leaving him to follow.

"Well I thought we'd go somewhere a bit more um, neutral?"

Afraid he might try and open the door for her, she practically runs to it and jumps into the car.

"Right, OK," she starts, as he starts the engine and drives away, "I guess you're right, let's try somewhere else. Where's good? Let's see... We need good ambiance and cheap drinks. How about..." Mila keeps rambling on, successfully stopping him from actually being given the chance to offer an opinion. She talks about all the different bars in town, and prices, and drinks, and clientele, and so on, until the car comes to a stop. 

"What are you doing?" 

"I thought we'd go here." Says Nacho, pointing at the bar they've just stopped in front of.

"A cocktail bar?"

"That alright?"

One, two, three couples at the tables by the window.

"...Sure."

She jumps out, before he's even undone his seatbelt.

Once inside, Mila pauses, taking in the atmosphere. It's calm, a bit dark, there's mostly couples in here, and pairs of friends. The bar is a bit busy but in a very civilised manner. In other words, it's quite nice.

"What are you drinking?" Asks Nacho, right next to her. She can tell he sees her jump and flinch away from him.

"Oh please, I-"

"No, no," he cuts in, smiling, "the deal was I pay you a drink, not the other way around. What would you like?"

"Just-... Beer?"

"Sure." 

He goes to the bar, and Mila hurries to get them a table before he notices all the free booths. She perches herself on a tall stool and watches people around her, taking the time to inspect the different possible escape routes available.

"Worried I was gonna try and get us into a booth?" Asks Nacho, teasing, as he brings two beers to the table.

"No!" She yells. "What? I mean, table's good, no?"

"It's good." He smiles, then his expression turns somewhat sad. "You can relax, you know. I'm not going to try anything. I just... Want us to get to know each other. Start again."

It's a bit too genuine and thoughtful a declaration for Mila to handle, and so she goes silent, awkwardly nodding before looking away and taking a long gulp of her drink. It looks as if Nacho has stunned himself into silence too, because he says nothing else, instead looking at the beer bottle in his hands. In a few mouthfuls, Mila's drink is gone.

"You done?" Asks her companion, startled.

"Yep." She shrugs, "I ain't Serbian for nothing." Jokes Mila, before sliding off her stool. She's about to ask if she should order him another drink too, when he asks:

"Are you... Do you want me to drive you home, then?"

"Sure," she says, taking great pleasure in watching his jaw set and his shoulders slump. "In a couple of hours. For now I was just gonna get another drink. Do you want one?"

"Yes please," he says, eyes slitghly wide. He'd really expected her to leave straight away? "A Coke, please?"

"A Coke?"

"I'm driving, remember?"

"You can have one more beer, no?" She holds his gaze, daring him, vaguely hoping it doesn't feel as sexy to him as it might look to anyone else watching them.

"...alright. Beer then, thanks."

This time, Mila gets herself a cocktail, and a shot.

Liquid courage.


	6. One Step Forward, Three Steps Back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sabrosito feels. Also, wheels are set in motion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so, so much if you are reading, I really appreciate it and cannot express how much I appreciate you reading this. And a special thanks to people who took the time to leave a comment, especially a nice one! :) 
> 
> I hope you enjoy the story, the plot is about to thicken!

At some point she's laughing and he's not even sure why. Did he say something? Is he funny? He's never been funny.

Nacho has had two beers, and now he's on soft drinks, but Mila has been downing cocktails steadily for the past hour. He's not sure what happened exactly, but she's gone from being extremely distant and cold to looking like she's having the time of her life. He vaguely wonders if she goes out much.

"You're wearing normal clothes," she says, out of nowhere.

"I'm- what?"

"Your clothes," she gestures towards him, "you're not in your gangster clothes. I mean, you still look mean, but you've toned it down tonight."

Nacho is not sure how to take this, but he's amused, so he smiles at her and decides it's the perfect chance to drop in a little compliment, see how she takes it.

"You look nic-ful." He winces. He's crushed nice and beautiful together, like a damn teenager. "Nice." He stammers.

"Sorry?" She leans in.

"You look-" he hesitates, opts for the riskier option. "Beautiful."

Because she is beautiful, and he likes her hair and how it looks against her skin, her smile is warm and he wants to sit closer to her.

"Sorry?" She leans in a bit more, cups her ear with her hand.

"You look beautiful," he repeats, loud enough for the table next to them to hear.

She sits back, laughing. "I heard you, I just wanted to make you repeat it."

At first, Nacho is too astounded to react, but then he starts laughing with her and shakes his head, looking away. Don't let her see you blush, that's downright pathetic, he thinks, scratching his nose, shielding his face with his hand.

"Sorry," she laughs, "figured it was my turn to humiliate you a bit." When he frowns, she clarifies: "you know, after the whole bathroom thing, when you terrorised me? And I was only wearing a towel? And you'd probably been there ages, hearing me fart in the shower?"

"Oh."

He doesn't know what else to say. He'd humiliated her? Terrorised her? Nacho supposes that's all very true. He did hear her fart, as well. Not that he'd tell her that. Mila looks like she's upset herself with this statement, and she downs her drink before looking away, smile wiped off her face, eyes shining ominously.

"Look, Mila, I'm so, so sorry, I wish I could take it all back-"

"You're not the scariest thing that's ever happened to me," she interrupts him, squaring her shoulders. "Back in Serbia I... You know, I mean, it was war, I lost everything. Everyone. Myself. But I expected it, you know what I mean? I expected people to die, I even expected to be..." She stops, and he can feel his blood run cold. "... But here, when I got to the US, of course it wasn't easy but compared to back home... I thought I was safe. Then you happened. You and your little group. I thought I was safe, but then I wasn't."

Nacho says nothing, because there's nothing to say, and he feels like the scum of the Earth at that exact moment. He'll make it up to her. He will.

"I'll make it up to you." He tells her, low, but he knows she's heard.

They grow quiet for a moment, then she stands up and puts her jacket on. He's got to admit, despite the slight swaying, she can hold her liquor really well, anyone would think she's had two drinks, not... How many was it?

"You ready to go?" She asks him.

"Sure. Where we going?"

"Back to mine." Mila's eyes grow huge and she tries to stammer her way out of that ambiguous statement. "I mean, you drive me back to mine now. I'm going home. You're going to your home."

"Sure," he repeats, and tries to give her a teasing smile to which she rolls her eyes in response. Baby steps. 

When they get to hers, Mila gets out of the car like it's on fire and waves a quick bye at him. Nacho rushes after her and steps between her and her house, at a safe distance.

"Can I see you again?" 

"Yeah, sure. Bye."

He can tell she's really wanting to get rid of him, but he'll take any kind of consent at this point.

"Cool, when? Tomorrow?"

"Oh no, I gotta sleep early tomorrow I'm in work Monday."

"Tomorrow daytime," he clarifies. "Lunch? My treat?"

"I uh- I can't, I'm busy."

"Oh yeah? Can I come with?"

"No, I'm... I'm visiting my dad. In prison, so..."

"Yeah? Which prison?"

"The one over the hill."

"I'll drive you." He offers immediately. He won't give up until she gives him an explicit no. "You wouldn't want to take that car up there, it could break down any second. There's no reception up there as well, you wouldn't be able to call me. I'll drive you."

"And...what? Wait in the car?"

"Yeah. I'll take the van, it's got air con. I'll be fine." 

"...ok."

"What time are you going? I'll pick you up."

"I, uh..." She'd clearly not even planned anything. "I don't know, like eleven or something?"

"Eleven. See you tomorrow."

*

The next morning, Mila needs a cold shower. She's had way too much to drink. Also, she's put herself in a very tricky situation: she had absolutely no intention of visiting her father, nor of seeing Nacho again, but now she's somehow ended up having to do both on this lovely Sunday. Impossible.

It takes her a good ten minutes, but she eventually decides to ring Nacho, and cancel. Which means he now has her phone number - a necessary casualty. 

The phone rings twice. 

"Nacho" He says, gruffly.

"Hi, it's Mila."

"Hey," his voice is much softer now, "how you doing? You ready to go?"

"Yeah, uh... I'm not going anymore. In fact I'm not going anywhere today. I uh- I'm too hungover."

"Ok. Guess you had a few."

"Yep."

"It was fun, no?"

She's not sure what to say. Was it fun? Was that what fun was? Having a drink with the guy who haunts your nightmares?

"Let me buy you lunch," he rushes, when she says nothing. "Next Saturday. It's not a date." He adds, tone somewhat defeated.

"...ok."

"Cool. See you at eleven, Saturday?"

"Ok."

"Bye."

"Bye."

Could be worse, she tells herself. Could be worse. Saturday is a whole week away, that's a nice break.

On Thursday that week, Nalani is off, and it's Lyle, the assistant manager, who's in charge. Mila likes him because he's straightforward, trustworthy, and responsible. Polite, too.

The day is going perfectly fine, no surprises, no complaints, nothing out of the ordinary. Lyle is at the till, Mila is at the other till. Later she'll swap with the trainee and she'll go in the kitchens for a bit. It's all good.

The first one to come in is Nacho. Mila sees him almost instantly, and he catches her eyes, but he doesn't smile, doesn't acknowledge her. After him comes the guy with the ponytail, whom she remembers from Pepe's. He looks around like he owns the place. Then, the old man walks in. He looks vaguely familiar, and not in a nice way. Mila feels her blood run cold. 

*

Four hours. Four hours!

That's how long it takes for Fring to arrive, and in the meantime, Nacho is stood there, back to square one, being the bastard that terrorises Mila. By then, all the customers have gone, and the staff have been gathered around two tables, silent and somber. Twice, the assistant manager tries asking who they are and what they think they're doing. Both times, Mila is the one to quietly shush him. She's sitting still, serious, eyes almost sad as she stares at the tabletop in front of her. She must be listening intently though, because she's the first to turn to look out the windows when they all hear an engine approaching. All the while, Nacho has positioned himself near her, hoping, stupidly, to be offering some sort of reassurance, some sort of guarantee that nothing is going to happen to her, but he supposes it doesn't help that his acolyte has recognised Mila from the Diner and is throwing her dirty looks. She works for the enemy now.

Fring arrives, and his eyes search his staff for any signs of injury. He dismisses them all, and Mila leaves, without a single look towards Nacho. He watches her leave the restaurant, until he catches Fring looking at him looking at Mila and he comes up with something to say to Fring. He doesn't see Mila looking over her shoulder, at him, as she walks to her car.

Nacho tries to call her, that evening, and the next, without success. He doesn't leave a message.

He's still got Saturday. Hopefully.

*

On Friday, Mr Fring starts by apologising to them all, which Mila finds greatly touching. There aren't any signs of bruises on him, that reassures her a bit. She's exhausted, that day, truly, she's not slept at all, expecting to see Nacho at her door any second. Maybe the horrible guy with the ponytail would be there too. Maybe they'd rape her to make sure she doesn't tell anyone she knows them. She feels her lips stretch in a tight smile when Mr Fring tells them he has no doubt they all brought yesterday's events home with them.

Later that morning, Mr Fring calls her to his office.

"Sir?" She knocks on the door.

"Ah, Mila." He greets her, with his lovely voice. "Come in please, I won't keep you long."

Mila sits in the chair opposite his desk.

"How are you?"

"I'm fine, Sir."

"Are you sure?"

"Just a bit tired, thank you."

"I suppose it must have been hard to get some sleep, after yesterday. I myself felt quite unsettled."

Mila nods, unsure what to say. She's realising that she does not want to hear of Mr Fring being anything less than absolutely serene and in control, at all times.

"Mila, I have a somewhat odd question to ask you, and please forgive me, and let me know, if it is out of bound."

"...ok?"

"The men that came here yesterday... Is one of them an acquaintance of yours?"

"I-" she stammers, not having expected the question at all. "I uh- no, I-"

"No?"

"No."

"You do not know any of them?"

"I don't."

Mr Fring looks away from her and folds his hands on the desk in front of him. She can tell he does not believe her. Mila is tired. She feels like crying.

"The reason I am asking, is because I saw one of those men speaking to you, by your car, on my carpark, a few days ago." His eyes have gone cold, calculating, judging. "Are you certain you do not know him?"

Mila's hands are shaking, and she feels tears prickling her eyes already. 

"I know the two younger guys," she admits, voice so quiet she's not sure Mr Fring can even hear her words. "The one with the short hair especially."

"Where do you know these men from?"

"They used to come to Pepe's Diner, where I used to work, before here."

"Is the one with the short hair... Are you involved with him?"

"No. I mean, he's asking me, but no."

"Are you involved with their business?"

"No!" She cries out, eyes wide, shaking her head. Mr Fring's expression softens slightly. 

"Do you know about their business?"

"Yes, but I shouldn't. I -" she swallows, on the brink of a panic attack. "I shouldn't know, and I shouldn't be saying anything, I've already said too much." She takes a deep breath, a tear already rolling down her cheek. "Mr Fring, these are not nice men, and if they are asking you to do something you should probably do it. I can't talk about this-!" A second tear, a third, a fourth, she's shaking all over. "If they find out I've said anything to you..."

"Mila," he interrupts her, a hand raised. His voice is calm and soft again, and he's looking at her with the same well meaning expression she is used to. "Please, forgive me. I did not mean to upset you. I was simply surprised to find out that a kind and honest young person such as yourself could have anything to do with these despicable beings. But I can assure you that they will not find anything out from me, and that this conversation is to remain strictly between the two of us. So please, tell me the truth. What is the nature of your relationship with that man?"

"He's called Nacho," Mila wipes her cheeks. "He's... He's one of them, and he's been.. He just keeps asking me out, and I'm too scared to say no, basically."

"Is he... Mistreating you?"

"...no, I guess not. He's not... What do you mean?"

"Is he forcing you to do anything against your will?"

"No. He's... He's not bad, you know, apart from... Everything. I just don't want anything to do with people like that, and he's... I'm just too scared to say no." Mila's embarrassed, now, because what is Mr Fring going to think of her? "I guess I was just hoping he'd realise how boring I was and he'd grow tired of me."

For a little while, Mr Fring says nothing. He certainly does not say what is actually on his mind: that the way that henchman, Nacho, had looked at Mila, was not the way of a man growing tired. No. Rather, it was the way of a man growing desperate with longing. Satisfied that Mila was not sent to him by the cartel as a way of spying on him, and his mind still reeling in anger over Hector's affront, Gus makes his decision.

"Mila." He starts. "I believe I may have a proposition to make. Something which would benefit the both of us, greatly."


	7. Gordita

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lost and found in translation. Also, Mila signs a contract with the devil.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the amazing response :) I'm really grateful that people are reading this, and thanks so much for commenting, if you did. I'll be thanking you personally too! 
> 
> Hope this doesn't disappoint.
> 
> I'm not sure what to do with this story, I've got the next two chapters thought out, and a general outline for the rest, but I was going to keep this fairly canon and now that season 3 has ended, I don't know whether to put the story on hiatus when I reach the timeline of episode 10, until season 4 comes out, or if I have a go at guessing the next bits... Not sure.

Following her meeting with Gus, Mila feels as if she has now come the closest she'll ever get to understanding her father. He'd always said to her that the way he has wasn't his fault, that going to prison wasn't his fault, that it had all been a big bad mix of circumstances that had pushed him in all the wrong directions, and that all he'd ever done, he'd done to survive, and to keep as many of their family alive as possible. 

She snorts. How did that work out? Only two of them left, and certainly not the best two.

Nevertheless, she can almost feel like she gets it, now. The big bad mix of circumstances.

Her dad is in prison, he owes money to his lawyer. She's being watched by the cartel. Some gangster has decided that he wants her. She can't ask for help. She can't run. There's no way out.

Fring, because he's lost the right to a "Mr" now, has presented Mila with a horribly appealing proposition. Well, two of them, really. First one, he's offering her a lot of money, $1,500, to translate some documents and conversations into Serbian. That is, $1,500 per translating job. He'd said that it was all hush hush, but that he was looking into expanding his business to Europe. Mila had timidly suggested he tried somewhere with money, like France, Germany or the UK, but Fring had said he'd already found partners in Serbia and Albania. Although they spoke English, he did not underestimate the importance of good impressions. The contents of the documents, and all subsequent conversations she may have to translate, were to remain completely confidential. With the kind of money he was offering, she could easily pay the lawyer, maybe even bail her father out within the next couple of... Years? Months? She could even buy herself a ticket to very far away, maybe even a new identity for her and her father, if she figured out how you get one of those. He'd given her the week to decide. It was all legal, he assured her, and she'd be hired as a freelance interpreter, despite the more than generous pay. That wasn't the proposition which had made her drop the Mr.

His second proposition felt less likely to be legal, but it had more immediate results: Fring had somehow found out that her dad was having issues in prison, and he'd offered to use his contacts to guarantee her dad's protection on the inside. Apparently, Mila's dad had made enemies in prison, because he'd sold people out in order to alleviate his own sentence. That sounded exactly like something he would do, and Mila was half tempted not to help her father. However, she'd grown with the idea that family and blood was everything, the unbreakable, a non negotiable. It still did not occur to Mila to actually visit her father, but to let out a chance of supporting him, of giving something back for what he'd done for her, getting her out of a war torn country, seemed impossible. In exchange for Fring's help, Mila had to do something very simple: keep in touch with Nacho. Be his friend. Now passably shocked, Mila had asked if Fring was essentially telling her to whore herself out, but he'd said no, of course not, but that if Nacho trusted and liked her he might want to protect her, and so he may let her know if Hector, the older man, had any intentions of returning to Fring's restaurant. If Fring knew of such plans, it would help him ensure he kept his staff and business safe. Again, she had a week to decide.  
Mila isn't quite sure which aspect of things upsets her the most: the fact that Fring could turn out to be an extremely corrupted individual, or the fact that she's probably going to accept both propositions. 

She's got a bit less than a week to accept the deal anyways, because Nacho is coming today at eleven to take her out for lunch, and she could either let that happen, or call him and try telling him that she'll never see him again.

Mila remains on the settee for about three hours, having missed her breakfast on this solar Saturday morning, until, at about 10:45, she suddenly jumps up and runs to her bathroom. At eleven, when he knocks on her door, Mila has just come out of the shower. Still in her towel, she goes to the door and opens it onto a bewildered Nacho, who looks at her up and down.

"Sorry! Nearly ready, sorry, I woke up late. Two minutes!"

He doesn't say anything, because she's already ran back to her room, holding her towel. She gets dressed and made up as fast as she can, grabs her bag, and, hair still damp, runs back to the front door where Nacho still stands waiting for her. She's not invited him in, Mila realises, and so he's stayed at the door, not taking the liberty to enter. 

"There," she says, breathless, exiting the house and locking it behind her. "Sorry about that. I'm not normally late."

"No problem," he replies. He's not sure which is the most overwhelming, the shampoo smell of her wet hair, or her minty breath as she apologises to him and smiles at him, like nothing happened.

"How are you?" She asks him, for the first time ever.

"I'm good, and you?"

"Good." She gestures at his car. "Shall we? Unless you want to take my car?"

*

They drive in his car to somewhere nice and quiet, definitely not a cartel hangout, and all the while Nacho observes her out of the corner of his eye. She looks tired, he decides, but there's something incredibly moving and intimate about seeing her with her hair still damp from her shower, and he's feeling this attraction to her more than ever before.

As they park outside the place - Mexican food, he'd gone for - her stomach rumbles loudly as if on cue.

"Sorry, missed breakfast."

Nacho is at a loss for words, because after the events of Thursday he'd expected fear, or rejection, or even anger, but if anything this is the most at ease she has ever seemed with him. Not that he's complaining.

A few moments later, they're enjoying their meal. He's helped her pick hers.

"Mila, I just wanted to say, what happened on Thursday..." He's picking his words carefully, she can tell, and she stops eating for a moment, to listen. "I just want you to know that I wouldn't have let anything happen to you." Nacho's got very intense eyes, Mila thinks, unable to hold his gaze as he looks at her. "I will keep you safe."

"What were you all doing there?" She asks timidly, thinking back to what Fring asked of her. "Or should you not be telling me anything?"

"I shouldn't. We... The old man who was with us, Hector Salamanca, he wants in on Fring's business. That's all I can say." His eyes search for hers. "For your sake, that's all I'll say."

She holds his gaze for a moment.

"Is he related to Tuco?"

"...yes."

"Where's Tuco?"

"In prison."

"I see." She nods, returning to her fries, and avoiding his eyes once again.

Nacho remembers her words from last weekend. She'd been a bit tipsy, but she'd briefly told him about the war she had come from. He'd researched it, finding out about Kosovo, and the war crimes, and the humanitarian crisis. He'd come out of his research more determined than ever to become a symbol of safety to her, and more filled with admiration than ever. His father would like her. His father would love her, in fact, she'd be welcome with open arms in the honest man's home. 

"Mila, listen, please." Once again, he leans in, locking her in place with his dark eyes. "Fring isn't what he says he is. He's not a victim."

Mila takes a deep breath and lets it out, shakily so. 

"I thought you weren't going to say anything else," she teases nervously. 

"You're right," he smiles, relieved. "Let's talk about something else. How's your dad?"

"Oh, I don't know. I don't actually... I don't really have much contact with him. He's not exactly the nicest man in the world."

"No? Can I ask why he's in prison?" If he really is in prison, he adds to himself.

"He... Gosh, I don't even know, he stole some stuff I think, you know, breaking into people's homes and attacking shops, that sort of thing. He nearly got deported for it all, you know, because America was so kind to grant us asylum and he repayed them by stealing honest people's property. Luckily his lawyer managed to get him prison instead, and I was sent into foster care." She shakes her head. "Returning to Kosovo would have been worse than anything, I think I'd have killed myself." It's said so naturally, so casually, but Nacho can tell she means it. "His lawyer did a great job, I was impressed, not to be rude but it was one of those cheap lawyers you can get if you can't afford a real one. Funny guy, too."

"Yeah? Who was it?"

"He's called James McGill," she said, and Nacho felt his face break into a wide smile. "You know him?"

"Yeah. I know him. Funny guy. And not a real lawyer, yeah."

"Have you been in legal trouble yourself?" She asks him, wriggling her eyebrows suggestively.

"You could say that."

"Well he must be good, if he got both my dad and you out of trouble. Especially you, you're not even in prison. My dad owes him money still, typical of him."

"Yeah? How much?"

"Over $4,000. I'm having to pay it all back."

"Do you...need help paying him?"

"Oh no, no, no..." He's vaguely hurt by her adamant rejection of his help. "It's fine, I've got it covered. What about you?"

"What about me?"

"You got a mum and dad? Siblings?"

"Just a dad, like you."

"What's he like, is he..." She shrugs, looking for the right words and failing miserably. "Is he nice, or is he more like-like you?"

Nacho raises his eyebrows at her, smiling, once again charmed despite himself by her honesty at his expense. 

"I mean, is he in a cartel too?" She clarifies, blushing slightly.

"No," he answers. "He's a good man. He owns a shop, we do mostly sewing jobs for cars, though we can also fix cars if necessary, he was a mechanic before this. He's an honest man." Nacho hesitates before saying the next part. "He doesn't know I'm working for the cartel. He thinks I stopped a while ago."

"I see. Do you... Why not tell him the truth?"

"I guess I'm scared he'll be disappointed," admits Nacho, surprised at his own honesty. "I don't want to lose him." He focuses on his food, embarrassed by his own admission of vulnerability.

Mila says nothing for a while, then her next question throws him completely off course.

"What does "gordita" mean?"

"What?"

"Gordita." She repeats, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear and blushing beautifully. "Someone called me that, some time ago. He said something like "me gusta la gordita", and he was definitely talking about me. Does it mean fat?"

"Yeah- and no. It means-" he's visibly ill at ease, which greatly amuses Mila. "It means curvy, but in a nice way. It's more of a compliment, means you're attractive."

"But fat."

"Not fat, more...more like you've got curves in all the right places. Like, sexy kind of curves. Curves that feel good to uh- to hold." Damn, that sounds crude even to his own ears, and he's said way worse things than that to women before. "Who's said that to you?" He'd quite like to know, pay them a visit maybe, tell them to back the fuck off.

"You did."

"Me?"

"Yes, you. At Pepe's, a few months ago. You and your gangster friends were talking about us waitresses, and you sir pointed at me and called me gordita."

Nacho is rather shocked, but at least Mila is smiling. He remembers that day, now. And yes, he had said that. 

"Are you denying it?" She asks, teasing.

"No." He replies, suddenly feeling daring. She might as well know without a doubt that he is very much attracted to her. Leaning forward, he crosses his hands on the table and looks at her in the eyes. "I did say that. And I definitely meant it as a compliment. I thought you looked sexy, and I still do. I've always been attracted to you."

The sudden change of power throws her, because he's on top now, and he's not embarrassed at all, he's owning it, and Mila feels the heat spread from her cheeks to her chest and she shakes her head, looking away, turning to her milkshake for comfort, shy but flattered. She's hyper aware of his proximity, but it's gone from terrifying to exciting. Her legs are prickling with how close his are, and she shuts her knees together, heart beating a wild rhythm. She's mortified. She's exalted.

They stay quiet for a while, Mila knowing without a doubt that he can tell how flustered she is. Eventually he breaks the silence by asking her out for drinks again, the next Friday night. She accepts, still unable to look at him. Her cheeks are so red she can feel the heat on her tongue.

"Is it a date?" He asks her, gently so.

"It's a date." She responds, before she's even fully thought her answer out.

He drives her home and she waves at him, still extremely embarrassed.

Once inside the safety of her home, Mila takes a moment to collect herself before she picks her phone up and texts Fring.

She types, hitting send before the adrenaline wears out.

"Yes to both."


	8. Manuel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Mila meets more Vargas than she may have wanted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the lovely response to the story :) this is not my best story, but it's a guilty pleasure! Hope you enjoy it, and thank you so much for reading :)
> 
> Things are going ok so far for Mila and Nacho, but I am expecting sh** to hit the fan at some point. Stay tuned!

At work, Mr Fring shows on Monday morning, for an hour, and nods in her direction, kind smile in place. Then they don't see him again for the rest of the week. On the Wednesday, Mila receives a text telling her that a translating request has been emailed to her, and receives a package containing a computer and a few instructions on how to access her email address, which she did not know she had. In her inbox, there is exactly one email. It's from someone called Lydia, and attached to it is a document in English which she is asked to translate into Serbian. She is given a week to do it, but Mila translates the whole thing that same evening. It's a business contract, talking of goods and transportation. The next morning, before work, Mila uses the computer to check her bank account, out of curiosity. She is astounded to see that the sum of $1,500 has already been transferred over. Half scared and half ecstatic, Mila gets ready for work, putting the computer away in her cupboard and deciding to only use it to translate things for Gus. She'll use some of the money to buy new make up, and some clothes, and even a hair drier. Mila also goes to the shop and buys all the fresh fruit and vegetables and pasta and rice she can fit in her kitchen - since the war, nothing contents her like the sight of a full fridge. 

Before their date, Nacho and Mila exchange a few texts. Nacho texts her to ask what time he should come round, and she texts back saying they should probably get taxies or buses and meet there, that way they can both have a drink. He then texts asking where she'd like to go, she texts back admitting she doesn't know many places. He suggests a few, and they agree on one. He asks about her day. They text to say good night.

Mila buys an actual dress. Not an expensive one, not a slutty one, but one that definitely says 'date' over 'dinner with the parents'. On Friday after work, she makes an actual effort on her make up and hair, for the first time ever. She decides to call for a taxi, slightly dizzy with the luxury of being able to spend that much money on unnecessary things. 

She arrives at the place they've agreed five minutes early, and texts Nacho to let him know she'll wait at the bar. He replies saying he's already there, and that she looks beautiful. Looking up, Mila's eyes search the busy bar until they meet Nacho's, who is making his way towards her. He's wearing a dark red shirt, impeccably ironed, and looks like he's just had a shave.

"You look..." He lets his eyes wander over her.

"Oh no," says Mila, suddenly feeling very self conscious. "I just- I'm actually wearing a dress. I'm not used to making an effort, sorry."

"I'm flattered," he replies. "And you look beautiful."

"Well," she says, awkwardly, needing things to slow the heck down a little bit, "you look good too. Have you had a good day? How's your dad? Can I get you a drink?"

Nacho laughs, breaking the tension.

"How about we start with a drink," he says, going towards the bar.

He doesn't let her pay, of course, and it takes a couple of drinks for Mila to fully relax and forget how she's dressed. Eventually though, she's catching herself actually having a good time. They don't talk about the cartel, or Los Pollos.

"Have you ever considered taking over your dad's shop?" She asks him. 

They're seating on the side, in a quieter are of the bar. They're next to each other and occasionally have to lean in to hear each other.

"I have," he replies, "perhaps I will, one day. What about you? You planning on becoming team manager, or something?"

"Oh no," she shakes her head. "No, I wanted to work in a nursery, or in a school." Mila tells him, surprising him again. "I love kids. I even did some volunteering, but there weren't any jobs going, and waitress seemed an easy way to get money when you don't really have any qualifications. Now, I wouldn't even know how to start."

He nods, trying to imagine her with kids. They must love her, he guesses, with her shiny hair and soft voice. His father really would approve of her. Mila returns to her drink and takes a look around, and Nacho takes this opportunity to admire her. She really is looking beautiful tonight, and this is an excellent sign, the fact that she has made an obvious effort to dress for a date. Still though, Nacho knows he's got to take it slow, and that she doesn't trust him yet. He knows that, yet he cannot help looking at her naked shoulder, the soft skin there, imagining how soft and warm it would feel against his lips. If he bent forward and kissed her there, would she panic, or would she get as deliciously flustered as she did a week ago when he told her he was attracted to her? His eyes wander up to her neck. Would she let him take his lips there? Would they ever grow so comfortable with each other that she'd let him call her his gordita? Would she have some sort of endearment for him, in Serbian? 

"Živeli," says Mila, startling Nacho out of his thoughts.

"What?"

"Cheers," she translates, holding her glass up to his. Her cheeks are slightly pink, did she just catch him staring at her?

"Salud," he smiles back.

Later, they go to a different place, a Latin place with Latin music and lots of people dancing. Mila has a cocktail there, and there's nowhere to sit so they stand by the bar, close to each other, so close that his arm goes to rest on the stool behind her, hand twitching with the sheer need to just hold her to him. She's so close, he can feel her warmth along his arm. He's sure she can feel him too, and she's not moving away, but she's not leaning back either.

Drinks aiding, Nacho comes awfully close to kissing her twice, but each time the overwhelmingly cautious aspect of his personality stops him and warns him against rushing things, and risking pushing her away for good.

They chat some more, and enjoy the music. 

*

All too soon, the evening comes to an end, and they leave the bar, Nacho resting a warm hand on the small of her back. Mila's lips are almost tingling with curiosity, but she is a sensible girl, and she knows it's the alcohol that's making her feel this way. He calls two taxis for them and watches her shiver in the night. Mila crosses her arms, turning away from him. The cool night air has sobered her up a bit, and she does not want to give him the impression that she's expecting a cuddle, or a kiss.

"Here," his voice comes up very close to her, and something warm and soft folds gently over her shoulders. For a second, she thinks he's hugging her, but then she sees it's just his shirt. He's taken it off, and has put it over her. He's wearing a black vest underneath. "That should help."

"Your shirt." She states stupidly.

"You can return it to me next time," he tells her.

"Thank you," says Mila, slipping her arms in the sleeves, then folding her arms once again. It is better with the shirt. It smells nice, too, though the only other male perfume she's ever smelled is her dad's awfully strong cologne - not like she has much experience in manly scents. She would have expected Nacho to wear something ostentatious, though, and this is a pleasant surprise. She's tempted to reach out to him, maybe hold his hand, or touch his arm, something, something to show her gratitude, but a taxi arrives, saving her from the awkward situation. "Well," she says, when Nacho shakes his head at her silent gesture for him to take the first taxi. "Good night. Thank you."

"Good night. We could do this again, no?"

"Sure." This is the moment when people kiss, Mila thinks, and he's hovering a bit closer, looking like he's weighting the risks, so she quickly turns to the car and gets in the back. 

"Let me know when you get home, alright?" He calls after her.

"Ok."

"Bye."

"Bye."

*

The next day, Mila wakes up from an uncomfortable dream - about Nacho. He's kissing her shoulder and neck, whispering loving things in her ear, and is very gentle. It turns into a nightmare, as he pushes her against her bathroom door and starts biting her until she bleeds. She takes a long cold shower, then checks her phone to see if she did let him know she'd got home ok, in the end. Luckily, her drunk self had remembered her promise. She finds his shirt on her bed, irons it, folds it neatly, then decides to drive it to his father's shop to hand it back to him. Nacho's told her where it was the night before, before she started on cocktails, and so Mila thinks she should be able to find the place easily.

She could wait, but now that the drinks have left her system, this little trace of him in her house feels far too intimate for comfort, and Mila wants rid. In fact, she's woken rather disgusted with herself, because she's accepted to see Nacho again, and she's come awfully close to actually taking the relationship to the next level. And what about this whole business of wearing his actual shirt?? So much for making him her friend! She's been throwing herself at him. And why, just because he called her "fat in a sexy way"? That's pathetic. She's definitely not on cocktails, next time they go out.

It's absolutely boiling hot as Mila drives down to where she thinks the shop is. She parks outside and walks to the desk, shirt in hand.

An older man sees her from the back of the shop and walks over, smiling kindly at her.

"Can I help you?" He says, voice heavily accented.

"Hello, um, does someone called Nacho work here?"

"Nacho?" The man frowns. "You mean, Ignacio?"

"Yes, Ignacio. My name's Mila. I have his shirt?" She lifts the shirt up for him to see, and the older man's eyes widen as he recognises it. He looks like he wants to say something, or ask something, but maybe his English is not good enough because instead he smiles and waves a hand at her, dismissing the thought.

"One moment," he says, looking at her a little bit more intently before he heads back towards the inside of the shop. "Ignacio, Mijo!" 

"¿Si, papa?" Nacho yells back from somewhere inside. Mila can see a few sewing machines, and some men seating at them, all wearing the same grey and black top as the old man.

Nacho and his dad, because that must have been his dad, exchange a few words, before Mila can see Nacho's face peering quizzically from inside the shop. His eyebrows rise up when he recognises her, and he wipes his hands on his trousers, walking over to her.

"Your shirt," says Mila, handing it over.

"Thank you, you didn't need to hand it back today-" 

"I know, I just thought... I just thought I might as well." She smiles at him, not knowing what else to say. "Ok well, see you later then."

"So you got home ok then?" He calls after. Mila turns back.

"I did, yes. Did you get my text?"

Behind Nacho, a few of the men have stopped working, instead looking at the two of them with interest. Nacho's father comes to the desk too, smiling at her, looking at Nacho with a raised eyebrow. And suddenly, Mila gets what this must look like. 

She's returning his shirt. 

They must all be thinking that he's left it at her place, last night, after they...

"I'll get going," she tells Nacho, making her way to the door. "Bye." She says to Nacho's dad.

"Wait a moment," calls the old man, effectively stopping her in her tracks. "Mila?" He asks, more to Nacho than to her. 

"Introduce me," he orders his son, in Spanish.

"Mila, this is my dad, Manuel. Papa, this is Mila." Nacho hesitates before giving the next part. "A friend."

"Friend?" He asks in Spanish to Nacho. "Mila," Manuel turns to her again. "It's very hot, you want lemonade?"

"Uh-"

"Come, come," not taking her obvious reticence into account, Manuel gestures at her to follow him as he heads towards the inside of the shop. Mila's gaze meets Nacho's, and the young man shrugs at her, following after his father. With no other choice, Mila gathers up her courage and goes after them.

They go to what looks like an office, where a jug of cool lemonade is resting on a table by a fan. 

"Sit," commands Manuel, before turning to his son and ordering he offers Mila some biscuits.

When they are all sitting down, Nacho looking the most awkward Mila has ever seen him to be, and Manuel having exhausted the amount of conversational English he knows, the older man turns to his son and starts asking the questions he was really interested in knowing the answers to. Mila is suddenly glad for the Spanish she studied at school.

"This is a friend?" He asks in Spanish.

"Yes. We met at Pepe's Diner, she used to be a waitress there."

"Why does she have your shirt?"

"We went out yesterday night and it was cold, so I gave it to her when she went home."

Manuel then gives his son the cheeckiest smile Mila has ever seen a respectable old man give to anyone, and Nacho shifts awkwardly in his chair.

"She is just a friend," insists the son.

"A friend worth taking your shirt off for on a cold night." Says Manuel, pouring Mila more lemonade. "Mm?"

"...She is not interested." Replies Nacho, quietly.

"No? Why not?" Manuel seems genuinely offended by the idea, and Mila decides that this is probably the moment to jump in the conversation with her broken Spanish.

"It's not that I'm not interested," she says, carefully, hearing her Serbian accent in her Spanish. Funny how she can almost pass for an American when she speaks English, but as soon as she tries Spanish - which she studied in America - it's Little Miss Kosovo Newly Arrived in the Land of the Free all over again. "It's more that I prefer to go slow." She's not certain the last part made the sense she's tried giving it, but both Varga men are gawking at her, in shock.

"I did Spanish at school," she tries to justify herself. "Sorry, it's very poor."

Manuel is the first to recover, bursting out laughing and slapping his son on the back.

"No it's very good, very good! And it's good to know, isn't it Mijo?"

Nacho's actually looking pale, probably replaying in his head all of the Spanish his father and him have exchanged in front of Mila.

"On my honour," Manuel says, a hand on his son's shoulder. "I promise you, my son is a good man. An honest and hardworking man. He knows respect."

Mila smiles back, aware of how embarrassed Nacho is, and how uneasy this must make him feel. He was right, she thinks. His dad really is an honest man. He certainly would want nothing to do with the cartel. In that moment, Mila isn't quite sure who to feel the most sorry for.

She tries to leave again, but Manuel asks about her, the sort of questions she guesses a responsible parent would ask their offspring's boyfriend or girlfriend. He's very sorry to hear about her past, and her father, is very impressed that she wishes she could work with young children, and tells her, as she finally manages to leave the shop, that his son will take good care of her.

Nacho walks her back to her car.

"Sorry about that. Thank you for bringing my shirt back."

"You're welcome. Guess I didn't really think this through, huh? Your dad's very nice."

"Think he likes you." Nacho throws a look over his shoulder, and, satisfied that no one is behind him, he leans in a bit so only she could possibly hear what he is about to say. "Did you mean what you said to him? About us?"

"Sort of," says Mila, feeling her cheeks heat up. 

"Do you mean yes?" He teases. Mila gets defensive.

"Well, I couldn't exactly tell him that it's not that I'm not interested, but his son did scare the shit out of me, and still sort of does, and that I'm worried that if I do get involved with him like that he's gonna get me killed, could I? So I said I liked to take things slow." She's knocked the cockiness out of him, she can tell, and Mila almost feels bad. "Anyway, your dad is really lovely." She gets into her car. "So lovely that I might ask him out, instead."

"Please don't do that," he jokes along. "We still on for next Friday, right?"

"Yeah."

"It's still uh... It's still a date, right?"

"Yeah."

Mila drives off, watching him watching her in the rear view mirror.

It's hard to tell, she thinks, whether meeting Manuel Varga has made her dislike Nacho more, or if it's achieved the exact opposite.


	9. Her hero?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Obligatory "my hero" chapter, because I hate the concept, too cliché, but damn I do like reading it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so, so sorry for the long wait. I am not happy with this chapter but thought never mind, either I delete it or I put it up on here... 
> 
> Thank you so much for still sticking with this story :) thanks a lot for reading and leaving kudos and especially for commenting, I really appreciate it. Hope you enjoy!

One day, Mila meets up with Carmen and the other girls from Pepe's Diner, to catch up. It's all fun and games, until one of them mentions "that thing with the truck driver", and how awkward it is because she knows the wife of the truck driver. Feeling her blood run cold, Mila asks what they're talking about, and the girl, Maria, tells her that one of the cartel's trucks had been compromised and as a result the cartel had had to kill off the civilian truck driver and bury him somewhere in the desert. His wife came to get her nails done at Maria's, and she had no idea what had happened to her husband. Maria felt bad she couldn't tell her the truth. When Mila asked who'd been tasked with killing the driver, it'd turned out to be known faces. Not Nacho in person, luckily.

"Although," said Maria, unaware of the look she was getting from Carmen, "the worst isn't that they killed him, it's that they tortured him first to see what he knew. That was Arturo, you know that guy I've been seeing on and off, and that other guy called Nacho. They like, totally abducted him and beat him up and stuff to make him talk. Poor guy knew nothing. Arturo tells me everything, he thinks it turns me on."

It takes Mila half a minute to process that piece of information, picture the scene in her head, and make a decision. She excuses herself to the toilet and sends two different texts, one to Fring, and one to Nacho.

To Fring, she texts "I'm sorry but I can't get too close to that guy. He's dangerous. I'll keep in touch but don't ask anything more of me. I'll let you know if I hear anything."

To Nacho, she texts "I'm sorry but I can't see you again, you scare me far too much. I could never feel safe with you and I need to feel safe. Don't come near me again." 

Once the message is sent, Mila realises how harsh it sounded, and how angry it might make him. She quickly adds the following: "I'm happy to stay friends if that's ok - please don't kill me for this."

On the way out, she bumps into Carmen who drags her back into the toilets to try and reassure her that Nacho really is nice, and that part of being in a cartel means doing things you aren't proud of. When that fails, Carmen tries to tell Mila about the great benefits of having a dangerous boyfriend, how safe she'd be if Nacho was her man, and that Nacho would treat her right and he's not like most thugs. Then, Carmen tries to appeal to Mila's heart and tells her that Nacho's had a tough upbringing, at which point Mila snaps and tells Carmen that Nacho's dad is a treasure, and that she, Mila, has had it way tougher than any of these cartel guys, and yet you don't see her walking around torturing truck drivers. Carmen has nothing to say to that.

Nacho respects her request, and over the next two weeks, she does not hear from him again, apart from his initial text response : "I would never hurt you. Let me know if you change your mind."

Mila carries on with her life, gradually learning to relax and not expect Nacho to appear right behind her to beat her up, or rape her. One day though, she gets a surprise visit of the nasty type. It's not Nacho, it's Alban.

Alban is one of her father's accomplices from before prison, except Alban never got caught. Mila's never liked him, because he's always looked at her like she was a grown woman, and he's always made weird unpleasant comments about how sensual she is. Eating in front of him had become unthinkable. Over the last few years, he's been showing up at random intervals to ask for money. This will be the first time Mila is approached by him without her dad being around to act as shield.

So, one day, Mila is working at Los Pollos when she notices Alban outside the restaurant, peering in. 

"Who's that?" Wonders Lyle, and indeed Alban makes for an unattractive sight.

He's tall, looks older than he is, wears dirty clothes and just has this sleazy look in his eyes that makes people uncomfortable.

He hangs around all day, until it's time for Mila to go home. She gathers her things and braces herself, walking to her car.

"Hey," he calls to her in Serbian. "Little Mila. You look good. Remember me?"

"Oh hey, Alban. Of course I remember."

"You not asking me how I'm doing? You used to bounce on my knee."

He'd pulled her to his knee, once, and she'd wriggled like a butterfly caught in a spiderweb until her dad had said to let her go.

"How are you?" She asks, car key in hand, walking briskly to her car.

"I'm good. You're good." He comments, looking at her. "Your dad, though..." Alban adopts a sickly sorry look. "He's not so good. He owes me quite a bit of money."

"Right. Sorry to hear that. Bye." Mila would quite like to know how he's found her, but she knows better than to show fear.

"Where you off to? You going home?" 

"Yes."

She gets in her car and prays to whoever can hear that her car starts straight away. Thankfully, it does. 

Soon enough, she notices another car following hers, and Mila knows straight away that it's him.

Utterly panicked, Mila takes deep breaths, trying to decide what to do next. Her first thought is to go to Nacho's dad's shop, but she guesses it will be close by now and it is isolated. She does not want to be stuck outside of it in the dark, with Alban. On the other hand, going home seems out of the question, because then Alban would know where she lives. Mila heads towards town and gets her phone out at the traffic lights. Heart pounding in her chest, she texts Carmen.

"Carmen I need help, some creep is following me I don't know what to do, I don't want to lead him to where I live but I don't know where to go. Where do you live?"

The lights turn green and Mila drives on, slowly, trying to buy time as she decides what to do. Carmen doesn't text back straight away, then Mila's phone finally buzzes and she picks it up, but it's not a text from Carmen. It's Nacho, ringing her. 

Not now! She thinks, and rejects the call. At another set of traffic lights, she texts Nacho.

"Sorry, driving."

"Are you ok?" He texts back immediately.

That's when inspiration strikes. Of course. If someone could scare Alban, it would be a scary Latino gangster. There's her answer. Mila drives on when someone behind her honks, and she heads towards the cocktail bar where she first went out with Nacho. Once in the carpark, she gets her phone out. Out of the corner of her eye, she can see that Alban is entering the parking lot as well. 

"Nacho this is going to sound crazy, but please could you come meet me as soon as possible at the cocktail bar we went to, and pretend to be my boyfriend? Please could you act all possessive and scary? Just for five minutes. Please, I'll buy you dinner, and I'll explain everything."

Mila all but runs inside the bar, and queues for a drink.

"I'm buying," says Alban's voice, awfully close to her ear. His hand is on her shoulder.

"Oh," Mila pretends to be surprised, and moves out of his reach. "You're here. You following me?"

"Thought you were going home?"

"I am." She lies. "I'm just meeting my boyfriend here first."

"Your boyfriend?" Alban smiles, he's read right through her. Mila does not have boyfriends. "Where is he?" He looks around, joking.

"On his way."

"Yeah?"

Mila doesn't respond, instead choosing to inspect the chalkboard drinks menu intently.

"Two beers, please," she orders, and when Alban says thank you she explains: "the second one is for my boyfriend."

Alban chuckles and buys himself a beer, then follows Mila to the side. He's standing too close, as usual, as he's done since him, her dad and her arrived in America all these years ago. Hell, he was already creepy back in Kosovo.

"So, boyfriend, huh?"

"Yeah."

"What's his name?"

"He's called Nacho." Mila takes a step back, trying to put some distance between the two of them. "Don't tell my dad, but he works for the Mexican cartel."

Alban howls with laughter, walks closer to her again. 

"Damn, Mila, you've always been funny... Listen," he stops laughing, leans in conspicuously. "Your dad owes me money. I really need that money. Any chance you might have some spare change to give me, you know, to help me get by?"

"Sorry, I'm a bit short on cash myself, so no."

"Your man is in the cartel and you're short on cash, huh? Maybe I can crash at yours then?"

"I don't think my boyfriend would like that."

"Oh yeah?" Alban wriggles his eyebrows at her.

"Damn, Alban," she snaps. "Why do you always have to be so gross?"

Alban argues with her for another ten minutes, by which time Mila is certain her plan has failed. Disgusted, Mila decides to go "wait outside" for her boyfriend, but of course Alban has to follow her there. Standing outside the bar, Alban having now put an arm around her shoulders, and listening to him suggest she repays her dad's debts by means other than money, is how Nacho discovers Mila.

He parks right outside the bar, and when Mila recognises him she runs to him.

"Nacho!"

She wraps her arms around his neck and places a kiss on his cheek, then stands close to him. That's what girlfriends do, right?

"Here you go," she tells him, handing him his beer begging him with her eyes. "Thank you so much."

"Is that the creep then?"

She suddenly understands why he's chosen to try and contact her straight after she'd told Carmen she was being followed.

"Carmen told you?"

"Yeah."

She feels like asking him how often he gets in touch with Carmen, exactly, but then remembers she has neither ground nor reason to be jealous.

"Do you know him?" He asks her, an arm around her waist, pulling her close.

"Sort of. He worked with my dad. He's very...pervy. But very much cowardly."

They walk over to where Alban is standing. Repressing a triumphant smile, Mila sees him inspect Nacho, notice the boots, the gold chain, the snake earring, and the overall gangster like swag he displays.

"Alban," she tells him, in English, and even she can hear how much she knows she's won. "This is Nacho, my boyfriend. Nacho, this is Alban. Alban used to work with my dad. He wants to stay at mine, and he thinks I should repay my dad's debts to him by 'any means necessary'. Don't you, Alban? Isn't that what you just said?"

Alban shifts awkwardly, scratching his head. 

"Well... I was just messing about, you know..." He tries to give Nacho a charming smile, fails. He's the tallest of the two, yet the aura that Nacho gives, Mila realises now that she's basking in it, makes people around feel very small indeed.

"Oh yeah? What sort of means were you suggesting?" Asks Nacho, in a low, calm voice, with an underlying tone of 'I'll snap your neck in half if you give me the wrong answer'. Damn, he's got one hell of a poker face. 

"I was just messing about, man, me and her go way back." Alban reaches for Mila, squeezes her arm. "Right, sugar?" He's said the last word in Serbian.

In a second Nacho has left her side and has pushed Alban into a corner, slightly away from people's eyes.

"Cut this shit out," he whispers, his hand on Alban's throat. Mila feels her heart constrict - this is way more than what she'd wanted from Nacho. Awkward, she stands there, looking around nervously, making sure no one is watching. "Now listen to me, you piece of shit. You don't touch her. You don't look at her. You don't talk to her. If she so much as spots your shadow at the end of the street, I'm coming after you. You hear me, pendejo? I'm gonna make sure there's a piece of you in every single garden of this city. You get it?" Alban nods, and from her spot behind Nacho, Mila does not immediately see the gun her 'boyfriend' is pressing into the older man's gut. "Good. Now disappear."

Alban leaves without so much as a look at Mila. Nacho looks around them to check no one has witnessed the exchange. The young woman is unsure whether she wants to run away in fear, or hug him some more. She finds that she feels almost guilty, because Alban is probably the closest thing she's ever had to a family friend. And, really, he's gross but he's harmless. They've come from the same war, and he's more similar to her than Nacho is.

"You ok?" Asks Nacho, snapping her out of her thoughts. "He touch you?"

"No. I mean, yes I'm ok. Thank you for that."

He nods, standing there, smiling gently. The contrast between his body language now and the one he'd been displaying just a moment ago is dizzying. Mila blushes, and feels like she should give him a bit more of an explanation.

"I'm sorry, Nacho, I just... I don't know anyone, really. I've always been a bit scared of him. He showed up at Los Pollos and then followed me, I didn't want him to know where I lived so I came here. He wanted money. He's not the most dangerous man in the world, but he's just really... Persistent, you know? I thought if he thought I had a tough boyfriend he'd leave me alone. He's harmless though, really. Thank you so much for helping me, especially after... I owe you."

"You don't," he tells her, again with the soft voice. "I want to help you. Plus it's a good excuse to meet again, huh?" Nacho gives her a charming smile which she is unable to resist returning. "Look, if you don't want to see me again, or at least, not like that, then that's ok, I get it. I'm not gonna kill you because you don't like me back." 

It does sound stupid, if you say it aloud.

"But can I ask what happened? I thought we were getting on well, having a good time... Were we not?"

"Yes." Admits Mila. "I- we did. I just... I saw the girls from Pepe's, and this girl Maria she told us about this truck driver... She said you'd tortured him, and I sort of... I got scared."

"I see." He nods, looking deep in thoughts, and a bit uncomfortable.

"Is that true?" 

"Yes." Replies Nacho after a moment. He's looking at her in the eyes. "I did. We had to know what he knew exactly. Listen, Mila... I had to do it. I'd never do anything to you, though, I want- I need you to know that."

"Right."

They're quiet for a while, then Nacho starts speaking again, voice so low she can hardly hear him.

"I work for the cartel now," he tells her. "But it won't always be this way. I've got other plans, I... If you gave me some time, you know, to leave safely, then..." He pleads. "I like you."

Mila nods, words caught in her throat. She's aware that this is a weird conversation for them to be having, as they have not even kissed yet, and already he's hinting at a future together, away from the cartel. Yet, she is moved.

"I like you too," she whispers back, and his eyes widen slightly at the confession. "I've actually... I think I've missed you." Mila feels like she's on the verge of tears, emotionally drained. 

"I've missed you too. Do you wanna go out again?" He asks carefully. "Give this another chance?"

"Yes." Mila replies. "I think so. If I ask, can you tell me the truth? About what you do?"

"... If that's what you want."

"And you swear you'd never hurt me?"

"I swear."

"What if we go out on dates and I realise I don't want to be with you that way?"

"I still won't hurt you, of course." He opens his arms helplessly. "I'm not an animal."

"...ok."


	10. Mezze

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which HUUUUGE progress is made.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry if you've been waiting for this story, took me forever to write this chapter, and still not happy with it... But, on a happier note, who's excited??? Who's worried? Season 4 y'all!!

They go on five more dates. Some during the day. They come close to kissing, actually very close to kissing, once. It's the fifth date, they've been to watch a movie and then had drinks. They've even had a great laugh, relaxing so much that Nacho can actually start daring to put a label on his growing feelings for Mila. They're sitting in a booth, his arm on the seat behind her, not quite touching, and Nacho takes a sip before noticing that Mila has gone quiet. He turns to her and sees it in her eyes. She wants him to kiss her. Or rather, she wouldn't turn him down if he did. Slowly, carefully, he leans in, his breath short and his heart beating way too hard. She doesn't move back, just watches him, her lips slightly parted.

"Nacho." He jumps back. "Mila. Nice to see you both here. Nice to see you finally got your girl, man."

It's Arturo. 

His interruption successfully ending any chance of the evening concluding with a kiss, Nacho feels unable to relax, even long after Arturo has left them alone. He's not comfortable at all with the ponytailed henchman knowing about him and Mila. Arturo's not exactly trustworthy, and he eats out of Hector's hand like there's no tomorrow. What Arturo knows, Hector knows. Damn. He's been so careful, never going where he knows cartel guys hang out...!

Nacho's so shell shocked that he forgets to ask Mila out again, but this actually ends up working in his favour, as the young woman, for the first time ever, makes the first step.

"Do you want to come round for lunch, on Sunday? I'll make something."

"Really?" The question escapes him before he can control himself.

"Yeah. Just, you know... Just lunch."

Not sex. He gets it. That's the first time she's actually invited him into her house though, and the first time he's going to be in there since...that time. There's a part of him that does wonder over how much progress they have been making in fairly little time, but the thought is fleeting, and Nacho is desperate for human connection, so he ignores his doubts and accepts her offer.

On Saturday, Nacho's in a good mood. He's counting the money for Hector, accepts some chit chat from Domingo. But then, he notices Domingo is talking a bit too much. Like he's nervous. Turns out Domingo was right to be nervous, as he's short on cash. Nacho's in a good mood though, despite it all, because Mila asked him over to her house. She's cooking for him. So, Nacho lets Domingo go. If it hadn't been for Hector, all would have been well, but Hector had to open his poisonous mouth, and now Nacho is having to beat up what one might call a childhood friend.

This, the fact that they used to be kids together, the fact that he's had to forget that and just get on with hurting the guy, ignore his pleas and cries of pain, all that successfully crushes Nacho's heart and numbs it all and he feels cold, very cold. He hurts his hand.

Comes Sunday, and he's not quite managed to snap out of it. Still, he makes his way to Mila's, wearing a shirt he doesn't think she's seen before, and bringing with him a bunch of flowers. His father insisted.

Mila waits five whole seconds before she opens the door, to try and give the impression that she hasn't been waiting right on the other side, hand in the door handle.

"Oh hi!," she says, nonchalantly. "Oh!" She notices the flowers.

"My father insisted," says Nacho, relaxed as ever. 

"So they're from him then?" Jokes Mila, trying hard not to blush.

She starts rummaging around the kitchen for something similar to a vase, whilst Nacho waits by the door. Surprised, Mila turns around and finds him still outside.

"Come in," she tells him, and only then does he step in.

"How was your week?" Asks Nacho, taking in the sight in front of him. Last time he'd been in, he'd been in a different state of mind, and it had been dark. Today though, he can take his time, looking at the couch, the TV, the kitchen, and her, Mila, moving around the kitchen in a relaxed and confident way. It's a pleasant sight, an intimate one. It's like he's peering in to her unguarded life, seeing her at her most vulnerable, except she's invited him in, she wants him to see her like this. At home. She's trusting him, her back turned to him as she puts flowers away and food out. It smells good, too.

"Oh, you know, normal. Nothing much." She starts serving what looks like a lot of different dishes into a same large plate, and Nacho begins to wonder if she's made him something from her home country. 

"Smells good," he praises. "What is it?"

"Oh it's probably the borek. I've made mezze, it's lots of different dishes so hopefully there'll be something you like."

"Is it from Kosovo?"

"No, it's Turkish." She throws him a little amused look. "Next time I'll make something from Kosovo."

Over lunch she asks him about his week, and he doesn't tell her about Domingo, instead telling her about his work with his dad. How curious his dad is, how much he keeps asking about her. She's very amused, as he thought she might be. 

After the meal, as he dries whilst she washes up, Nacho's debating whether to tell her about auntie Rosa ringing in, asking about his 'girlfriend', when Mila notices his hand.

"Oh my god, what happened?"

"That's just uh... An accident, with the sewing machine. I wasn't careful."

"No?" 

That's when she touches his hand. Touches it. Of her own accord. Her slitghly soapy hands pick his injured one ever so gently, and she inches closer to look at the gash between his thumb and index. 

"Did you clean it? Looks painful." She shakes her head. "You need to be careful, what happened? Were you tired?"

Nacho couldn't really say if it was her concern over his wellbeing, or her touch, or how wound up he's been, or this crazy craving for a real connection, a real relationship, no lies, but something breaks, something gives in, and the next thing he knows he's telling her everything. Domingo, the money. Don Hector, getting to him. Beating a friend. How hard it is to shut it out. He even tells her sometimes he's worried he's gone too cold, that there's not much human left in him.

Mila listens, quietly, and Nacho is getting slightly terrified that this was too honest too soon, that he has managed to completely erase any shot he's ever had with her, when Mila does the next most surprising thing he's ever seen her do.

Slowly, she lifts his hand up to her lips and very softly kisses the flesh near the gash.

"As long as you're worried about it," she whispers, her breath brushing against his hand, "means you're ok." She lets his hand go, gives him a gentle smile. "And now I've kissed that better."

Nacho's at a loss for words, and his eyes go to her lips, and he knows he's going to kiss her now, there's no other way. He somehow finds the strenght not to, instead turning to count the bubbles rippling across the water in the sink.

"God, for a second there I thought you were going to kiss me." Mila says in a nervous breath.

Nacho lets out a strained chuckle, shaking his head - except that's not what she said. She said: "God, for a second there I thought you were finally going to kiss me." That extra little word thrown in there, once it makes its way to Nacho's consciousness, is what finally, finally gives him the sign he's been waiting for. 

His eyes meet hers and he snakes an arm around her back, pulling her to him, and he kisses her, finally. Nacho only presses his mouth to hers for less than a second before she pulls pack, startled, and he stands there, watching the surprised expression on her face and certain she is going to slap him.

Instead, Mila moves closer to him, bumping into him in her eagerness, and meets his lips with her own, her arms having found their way around his neck.

*

 

It's for Fring, she reminds herself, it's the deal. You're helping the only family you got left.

"Mila," Nacho whispers her name in reverence, then he shifts them both about until her bottom is against the kitchen counter and he's pressing into her there, keeping her in place. She's trapped, and this strange feeling of urgency and excitement just gets stronger. Her whimper as his hand slips through her hair and his tongue enters her mouth is one of content, not fear. 

Nacho says something inaudible, in a hot breath, as he pulls back enough to take his jacket off. Mila freezes.

"Just the jacket," he whispers, noticing her reaction. 

He sets the leather jacket on a nearby stool, and, slowly, very gently, returns to kissing her, her cheek, her nose, her neck, her lips, his hand in her hair and the other one on her back, reassuring, coaxing her into a response, until she gives in, feeling somewhat safe enough to. Tentatively, her mouth finds his again and her hands start exploring his shoulders, his back, and she's got to admit that it's better without the jacket. He's so warm, it's like she's touching skin, and the thought is making her almost drunk. The counter behind her is hurting a little bit, and Mila unconsciously starts getting on her tiptoes and moving back, then Nacho gets it and suddenly his hands are under her thighs and he's lifting her onto the counter, and now she is sitting up on it, and their eyes are level. The display of obvious physical dominance, how easily he could overpower her, and yet, her awareness that it was not done in an effort to intimidate her, further reinforces Mila's conflicting emotions, and for a moment her knees remain tightly shut in front of her, blocking him at a safe distance. Nacho says nothing, just returns to less heated kissing, his lips on her cheek again, and her neck, his hands flat on the counter, either side of her. Her hands are flat against his chest, keeping him away, and he doesn't insist. But then, his breath ghosts over her ear and it's like she's melting, arms sliding around his neck again, legs opening in a clear invitation, which he accepts, and when they're kissing now their chests are flat against each other and she feels every part of him, like he must be feeling part of her. And yet it's not enough, and he must be feeling the same, because his arms tighten around her and he pulls her forward, sliding her over until their middles meet too. He's shifted forward as well, almost leaning over her in an effort to get closer. This time she's not afraid, because she knows it will stop there, or wherever she wishes it to go to. Her legs tighten against his hips and next thing she knows he's the one whose breath catches in his throat.

At that point, his phone rings from inside his jacket, once, twice, three times, and Nacho has to pull away, looking drunk, reaching for his phone whilst still standing in her space. The jacket drops to the floor and he has to give up holding her if he wants to get the bloody thing.

"Sorry, I gotta-I gotta-" he stammers, stepping back, looking for the phone.

Mila nods, watching him in his disshevelled state, getting to his phone and picking up, voice all raspy.

"Yeah? Nacho?" He says, before clearing his throat. The person on the other end speaks, and Nacho clears his throat again, looking over at Mila, like he's weighing his options, but then the person speaks some more and Nacho moves away from her, down to the bathroom - which she's let him use earlier, yet another wall they've destroyed today - where he can speak more freely. 

It's easy to work out the nature of the call, and Mila guesses this means that their date is over. Which is good, probably, because she'd been pressing herself against his crotch, and she'd felt him press back, then his hands had got to the hem of her top, and her trousers, and she's not exactly sure she'd managed to freeze again if he'd attempted to take this even further.

She slides off the counter, blushing, smoothing out her clothes and knowing her lips are red and swollen and she's got rub burn on her chin, from his stubble. She's feeling...ashamed?

Nacho returns from the bathroom, his eyes searching for her and finding her hiding behind the worktop.

"Hey," he says, "I uh- I have to uh-"

"Yep"

"Thanks for lunch, it was uh-"

"Yep"

He stands there for a little while, awkward, then moves towards the door.

"I better uh-"

"Yep. Your jacket!" Mila picks it up and brings it over to him. He takes it from her, thanking her. Mila's reaching for the door handle, when she feels Nacho's hand cup her face and pull her to him. He gives her a very soft, very tender kiss, just lips pressing gently against lips, and when he pulls back Mila's absolutely certain he can tell how affected she is.

"Can I see you again?" He asks.

"Yes"

"I'll text you."

"Ok."

"Just text me too. If you want."

"Sure."

"Bye." He smiles at her, Mila smiles back. 

"Bye."

And he's gone.

Mila goes for a shower, to scrub off the shame. What shame though, that's the question. She's not sure what happened, did she just sell herself and use his attraction to her, or did she do this because she's actually come to like him that way?

More importantly, which would be worse?


	11. The Switch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Mila is smoooooooth. Get ready for next chapter, it's loaded.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so, so much for reading, if you are, and sorry it took a while to update! 
> 
> Oh my god though, season 4 is... Quite the ride so far!! 
> 
> Not sure if I already mentioned it, but this story will contain spoilers for all up to date episodes. Right now we're towards the end of season 3, but within the next two chapters we'll be moving into season 4. You've been warned! Watch the episodes first or you may get spoiled ;)
> 
> Thank you again for reading, and thank you for the kind comments, they are very much appreciated and are read with glee and blushes and squeals of joy.

The next few weeks are extremely eventful, in Nacho's life. Following his kiss with Mila, he'd taken to ringing her every evening to just have a chat. She'd picked up every single time, after only one or two rings, and her voice was soft when she spoke to him. He'd asked to see her again and she'd said yes, but demanded they meet in a bar. He knew this was a way of preventing them from getting too...personal, but he respected that. He respected her caution, even if it drove him crazy. There was a part of him that was unwittingly glad they were taking it slow, because it gave the whole thing more meaning, somehow. This said, he'd certainly not turn her down if she initiated sex.

So they go out, to bars, and each time they spend a couple of hours talking, gradually inching closer to each other until she feels confident enough, then they kiss, until the bars shut. He can hear her breath catch when his hands go to her legs and waist.Then they kiss outside, in the night, until she decides to go home, not inviting him along. Nacho invariably goes home feeling uncomfortably aroused and increasingly attached.

He caves in and nearly begs, one night, after he's had a few drinks and he's holding her very close outside as they wait for a taxi.

"Do you want to come back to mine?" He asks into her neck.

"Yes," she says. "But I can't."

"Why not?" Asks Nacho, his heart beating a crazy rhythm in its cage.

"...I haven't shaved my legs," whispers Mila into his chest, and he can hear the blush in her voice. "Or anywhere."

"I don't mind," he immediately says, desperate, kissing her again, fingers tightening around her. "I don't mind."

And he really doesn't.

"I mind," she replies, before managing to extract herself from his arms and taking a few steps back.

They go home seperately, but still, the knowledge that she wanted to, that they nearly got there, and that it was fine for him to make the first move, it was enough to send his mind reeling and his blood boiling.

It feels good, this secret, this link to another person, this trust, this meaningful interaction, and Nacho does not initially wish to let his dad know about it. He assumes he can call Mila his girl now, he knows she calls him her boyfriend. He knows, because once he calls her just as she is getting changed at work and someone asks from behind her who she's talking to and she whispers "my boyfriend" over her shoulder and he hears it. His heart does a stupid clench at the word, and it's embarrassing, really, because he's not even had sex with her yet. Still, he is smiling, and a weight is off his shoulders, so Manuel notices of course and guesses the reason behind his son's happiness.

"Invite her for dinner," suggests the old man at least twice a day. "Invite her." Then, after a moment's reflection, he adds: "make sure you change your sheets and tidy up. Your apartment is a mess."

Nacho pretends he hasn't been changing his bed every two days since the exchange outside the bar, and that he hasn't just bought condoms which he keeps in the bedside table and in his wallet, just in case. He pretends there isn't a bag containing a change of underwear and shirt and a toothbrush ready packed in his car. Or a spare toothbrush in the bathroom at his place. Just in case.

Life seems so good that the day Hector gets him to take more product than he's entitled to, and then he gets a gun pointed at his head, and it suddenly dawns on him that everything could just stop, end, he could be dumped into a shallow grave and never see his father or Mila again and they'd never know what happened to him, and all that for what, for some crazy old man's wounded pride and a few dollars more, that day comes like a bucket of iced water and shakes him the fuck up.

Nacho calmly collects the drugs and walks away, he calmly drives over to Mila's after having calmly agreed with Arturo a time later that night to go and drop the drugs at Hector's and tell him what happened, calmly says he just needs to get home and use the toilet, damn those tacos hey, then when he parks outside Mila's place his hands are shaking uncontrollably and he almost jogs up to her door and opens it, remembering at the last second to knock and wait.

He hears her walk over and peer through the fisheye, then move the settee and unlock the door. It opens slowly and reveals Mila, in a sleeveless top and comfy pyjama trousers, hair a bit tousled, looking quizzically up at him.

"Nacho? You ok?"

"Can I come in?"

"Erm..."

"Just two minutes, please. I have to go I can't stop, Arturo is waiting for me and we need to go see Hector, I just wanted to quickly hold you, if that's ok? Please?"

It sounds insane, and he doesn't blame her for the slight look of fear over her lovely, lovely face, but she nods, stepping aside to let him in then closing the door behind him. As soon as she's shut the door Nacho reaches out to her. He wraps his arms around her and pulls her to him, tightly, burying his face in the crook of her neck, feeling her whole body tense up but it's too late. He breathes her in, deeply, one hand feeling the soft skin of her neck, shoulders, and her hair, the other tracing the curve of her back and managing to stop above her trousers. She feels very warm, and she's not wearing any underwear, he's probably got her out of bed. His lips kiss her neck gently, feeling her start to relax a bit as her own arms come to rest around him, not tightly so but there none the less. 

"Has something happened?" She asks him quietly.

"Yeah," he responds, shifting to force a kiss on her, which she accepts, and he deepens quickly, which she accepts again. Her arms wrap around his neck and Nacho forgets all about Arturo and Hector and the chicken man for a moment and pushes her against the door, pressing himself against her and ready to keep going further and further unless she withdraws consent explicitly - which, dear god, she isn't doing at all. 

Instead, Mila starts kissing him back somewhat feverishly, urgently, pulling him against her harder, even, unless he's imagining it, pressing forward against his erection, then her arms leave his neck and travel down to meet over his hips, under his jacket, and there's no doubt about what she's doing, or what she wants. With a groan, Nacho inches back slightly to let his hands roam under top, over her breasts, her nipples, her stomach, her back, then her ass as he pushes her trousers down, not entirely sure what he intends to do once said trousers are gone. 

Abruptly, Mila's hands grab his and stop him with surprising strenght.

"Wait, wait, wait, Nacho don't!"

The slight panic in her voice is enough to bring him back down to earth and he stops immediately, withdrawing his hands from her and stepping away.

"Sorry," his hands are up, like she's pointing a gun at him.

"No, don't, it's not that I don't want to, I-"

"You haven't shaved your legs?" He jokes, and thank god she laughs.

"Well there's that yeah, but also didn't you say you had to go see Arturo and Hector?"

Fuck.

"Fuck. Yes. Sorry."

"I mean, we can probably be very quick, I know, I just don't want you to get in trouble-"

"Not that quick," jokes Nacho again, and thank god she laughs again. "But yeah I have to go. I just needed to see you quickly... Can I see you again soon?"

"Of course, and you can even tell me what happened, please? Are you... Are you ok?"

"I am now." He steps back, straightening his clothes, watching her do the same. "Mila I really care about you a lot." 

It's escaped him before he's had time to fully register it.

"I care about you too." She replies.

With one last, sweet kiss, Nacho takes his leave, feeling somewhat better. Until he sees Hector and the old man asks to use his dad's business to import his product over the border. Then Nacho sees the pill, and sees his chance. He sees he's not going to be ok for a while now, but he also sees...a chance.

*

Mila finally shaves her legs.

Now, before you judge her, you should probably know that it isn't laziness which has prevented her from doing so before: it's genius.

See, Mila thought Nacho would want to have sex, and she knew that, in the heat of the moment, with a bit of alcohol in her system, she'd want to say yes. But she also knew that Nacho very probably had much more experience than her and that he would be disappointed once it became clear that Mila's not had sex in about eight years, and that she's only had sex with one man before. So disappointed, she thought, that he'd lose interest in her, precisely as she was building interest in him. So, she thought, she'd have more of a chance at safeguarding the relationship if they built more of an emotional link before having sex for the first time, and so, it came down to her to ensure they did not have sex too soon. Such was Mila's logic.

But as mentioned above, Mila did not trust herself to resist temptation, unless she had a very strong incentive not to give in... Such as, the embarassement of revealing herself in full winter mode during their very first night together. That worked. It was genius.

Now, though, Nacho has told her he cared, and Mila wants to believe him, and she wants to have sex with him, so yes, finally, she's shaving her legs, and changing her sheets, and tidying up her room, and hiding the tampons in the bathroom. She even gets a haircut. She's getting ready.

Unfortunately that's not how things work, and Mila, who's survived war as a civilian, should know that being prepared for something means that life is going to throw something else at you - whatever you were the least expecting to happen. It all starts good, though.

Nacho rings her one day whilst she's at work and asks to take her out after her shift, for lunch. She accepts, taking the time to apply a bit of mascara before meeting him. She's wearing matching underwear, a white t-shirt and some high waisted jeans she knows he likes on her, because back when she used to work at Pepe's Diner Carmen had said that Nacho could hardly get his eyes off her ass whenever she wore those jeans. 

They meet on neutral ground just outside of town, where they first went for lunch, and where he'd first let her know of his attraction to her - the first time he'd been completely explicit, that is.

Nacho is exhausted, he's just spent yet another night practising for The Switch. Capital letters. He's going to switch Hector's pills for fake ones, and let nature do the dirty work. It's not worked once. The only silver lightning, apart from seeing Mila, is that Arturo has not told Hector about her, contrary to what Nacho had been expecting. Unable to carry on living without knowing, Nacho had asked Arturo, and the ponytailed man had winked at him and said "no man, I ain't told him. I got your back." Then, the smile had faded and he'd added: "but seriously though, don't be talking to her about cartel shit, she works for Fring. I know she seems sweet and all but... You never know."

Truth was, he'd suspected it. That her change of heart towards him may have been motivated by Fring. That, somehow, Mila worked for him, and that the drug lord had some sort of hold over her and that their entire relationship was based on that. He hoped not, but the thought did nag at him every once in a while. Scarier still was the realisation that, if that was the case, he didn't want to know, and if he found out for sure, and she apologised to him, he'd just forgive her, on the spot, and beg her not to leave him. He is that far gone. It's terrifying. It's insanely exciting.

She walks in the cafe with her sexy jeans on, the ones that go around her ass in the best way possible, and he notices the hair instantly.

"Hey," she says, standing for a moment, trying to decide whether to kiss him or not. He stands and kisses her softly, then withdraws to see the soft blush on her cheeks and the shine in her eyes. 

However their relationship had started doesn't matter, she couldn't possibly be that good at faking affection, he tells himself.

"Hey," he says, remaining where he is. "You cut your hair."

It now is a lot shorter, above her neck, and pinned behind her ears. 

"Oh yeah," she remembers suddenly. "I do it once or twice a year."

His eyebrows shoot up of their own accord. What he perceives as a lack of vanity never fails to wow him. She's not trying to be attractive. She just...is. To him. It's different to all the women he's been with before. She challenges everything he thought he knew of feminity and attraction and lust and sexiness.

"It's... Short, I know. This time. Normally I don't cut that much off-" She babbles on nervously.

"It's great," he reassures her immediately. "It's different. Sexy."

He is suddenly hit with a very vivid fantasy: that of placing his hands around her now exposed throat, fingers up in the shorter hair on her neck, thumbs stroking her cheeks, and pulling her to him to kiss her hotly, possessively, tongue and all, right there and then. Maybe he'd tug at the hair a bit roughly, get a moan out of her. The image is so clear it feels almost prophetic, like a vision, and he swallows hard as all the blood in his body rushes south. He sits himself down.

She takes her sit opposite him, and picks up her menu, cheeks still a bit flushed.

They have lunch, and she insists on paying, convincing him to let her by saying she's got a favour to ask of him.

"I was wondering if you'd be able to come with me deliver some cash to my dad's lawyer," she tells him in a low voice. "I'm meeting him this afternoon, and I wouldn't want to be mugged on the way there, it's... Quite a bit of money. It's fine if you can't, no problem at all."

"Of course," he says, "where are you meeting him?"

"At the back of the bus station. Apparently there's a little sort of... Take away type place, there."

"Seriously?"

"That's where he said, yeah."

Nacho shakes his head. That McGill and his shady deals. Suppose he shouldn't really be taking cash off the estranged daughter of one of his clients. The back of the bus station... No wonder she's worried about getting mugged.

"Should we go after this? Drop your car off at yours, get the cash, and I'll drive you." He offers.

"Thank you, Nacho," she gives him a bright, grateful smile. Then frowns. "Do you prefer to be called Nacho or Ignacio?"

"You can call me whatever you want."

He's struck something, there, he can tell, because she freezes, blushes, chuckles nervously and shifts in her seat, a hand coming to rest on the back of her neck.

"...Nacho's fine," he smiles, taking pity on her. 

"Ok," she all but squeaks. "um..." 

Her eyes dart to outside, then towards him, and she leans in a bit to administer him the blow of the century.

"I was also wondering if you'd like to... Maybe... Spend the night? At mine, tonight? I'd make dinner and... Well." She waves a hand in the air. "I guess you could sleep in my bed if you wanted to, um..."

"Yeah," he says quickly, too quickly, a bit hoarsely. "Yeah, I'd like that."

She smiles, nods. He grabs her hand from across the table and holds it.

"It sounded way smoother in my head," says Mila.

"It was smooth."

Mila nods, then wiggles her eyebrows at him before adding in an overly suggestive voice:

"I'll call you whatever _you_ want."

A bark of laughter escapes him before he's got time to master himself, followed by an ungraceful fit of cough and some uneasy shifting in his seat as his pants grow a lot tighter around his crotch. She laughs too.

They sit there a while, looking and smiling at each other. Nacho feels light headed, drunk. Her hand feels perfect in his.

Exactly two hours later is when life decides to let some shit hit the fan.


	12. The Saul Cameo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bow chicka wow wow.
> 
> *the eyebrow wriggling is strong with this one*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so so so much for reading, and sticking with it, and for commenting as well I'm so grateful :)
> 
> Hope you like it, here it is!! 
> 
> Also, as a bit of a reassurance: the story is about Nacho, so any drama that pops up in Mila's life serves a purpose to their romance, and you needn't worry about having to read loads about other OCs, if that makes sense.
> 
> Also, next chapter will be about season 4, so please please please do catch up or you'll catch spoilers!
> 
> It's raining chapters y'all!!

On the way to the bus station, Nacho's hand comes to rest on top of Mila's thigh, and she leaves it there, even covering it with her own, then running her palm along his forearm and up to his bicep, silently impressed. The truth is she's never been this close to anyone this strong. It's a bit scary, and a lot more arousing than she'd had ever expected. And to think that soon she'll be completely naked, at the mercy of these arms...! She feels like fanning herself, like some lady out of a telenovela. The bag of cash is at her feet.

They get there and walk round the back of the station, where she spots Mr McGill, her dad's lawyer. He's looking a lot skinnier and more disheveled than the last time she saw him, and his hairline has definitely receded significantly. There's a little van selling foul smelling burgers and bad coffee. Mr McGill is sipping one out of a small plastic cup.

"Mila!" He welcomes her with open arms, his eyes catching sight of Nacho, who's following closely behind. "And uh-you brought a friend?"

"Boyfriend," she provides.

Mr McGill claps his hands. 

"Young love," he says, all smiles.

"Should I give you the cash now, or...?"

"Well," Mr McGill looks embarrassed, throwing Nacho a furtive look, clearly not having expected him to be there. "No need to uh- but I mean, if you're ready..."

They move a bit further away, sitting at a small, plastic table round the side.

"...and 75 cents," Mila finishes counting, adding the change to the contents of the bag. Mr McGill thanks her a few times, clearly flustered. He keeps looking around for something, or someone, and Mila is starting to grow uncomfortable.

"Well I need to dash, but can I maybe get you two a coffee or,...?" He offers them.

"Yeah." Nacho says, staring hard at the lawyer. "You can."

"I'll get them," Mila buts in, standing before either of them can protest. 

"So you two are square, now." Nacho tells McGill. "She don't owe you shit. And in the future if her dad owes you money, don't come asking her, am I making myself clear?"

"Crystal." The tall, lanky figure of the lawyer stands and gathers his briefcase, before throwing Nacho a somewhat hesitant look. "Hey um... You look after her, alright? She's a sweet girl, and she's had her fair share of uh...adversity. She's in for a bit more, I'm afraid."

McGill takes his leave from Nacho, who's a bit taken aback by what he's just heard. So taken aback in fact that he does not notice the scene unfolding a few feet away, not until someone lets out a yelp and a few people gasp in shock. His eyes snap back to where the van is. A fight has started, a man is being hit in the face repeatedly by a woman - Mila! - and his girl is seriously going for it, punching him as hard as she can and throwing a plastic tray at his face. A man grabs her to stop her, and Nacho springs into action, running to get the guy off of her and taking his place trying to hold the young woman back. She's shouting in what he assumes is Serbian. The man she's hitting is holding his hands above his face, taking it, until Mila lands a particularly nasty kick to his knee and he snaps, making to grab her and raising a menacing hand at her. Nacho sees red. He grabs the man and all but throws him away. They stare each other down, until someone shouts that they're calling the cops, and Nacho puts an arm around Mila and tries to walk her away. Enraged, she violently shrugs him off then appears to gather herself back together when she meets his eyes. With one last, hard look at the guy she just hit, Mila makes her way to Nacho's car. 

Nacho follows after her.

"Let me guess," a random man comments to the gathered crowd, "cheating ex-boyfriend?"

Nacho finds Mila by his car, and they get in.

"You alright?" He asks, and she ignores his question. "Mila, you alright?"

"Fine!" She snaps. 

Nacho starts the engine and drives them away, anxious to avoid the cops. He drives until they get to a quieter area of town, where he parks in the nearly deserted carpark of a supermarket. He looks at her. She's staring ahead, lips tight, brows furrowed, her hands crossed on her lap. Her knuckles are red and the skin there is scratched.

"Wait there," he tells her, then goes to buy a bag of frozen peas and a dish cloth. 

When he returns, she looks calmer, if on the verge of tears. He wraps the frozen peas in the dish cloth and gently takes her hands.

"Let's get your hands in this," he says as softly as he can manage. "They'll be getting sore."

"Thank you." She swallows. "I'm sorry. For snapping at you."

"Don't worry about it. What happened?"

Silence.

"Did that guy bother you? Say something to you?"

Silence.

"Do you know him?"

Still nothing. Nacho goes in for the kill.

"Cheating ex-boyfriend?"

That works.

" _Fuck_ no!" She snaps, surprising the both of them. "No! No, he's... He's my dad."

"Your dad?"

"Yeah."

"Ain't your dad in prison?"

"So I thought." She laughs and a tear escapes her eyes. "Obviously he must have got out, no idea when. I thought he was in for longer. I thought-" she laughs again, now fully crying at the same time. "I thought he was having trouble and couldn't pay for his lawyer and he's fucking out, you know? Showed up saying 'surprise!', like what the fuck, I just handed over a shit ton of cash to his lawyer, all my fucking savings, and the whole time he was standing there waiting for the lawyer to go with my money." She bends over and covers her face with her hands. Nacho has no idea what to do. "I had to- to get that money, I had to-I had to work so fucking hard, you know? And it's all gone! And for all I know he might have been out for ages, just waiting for me to settle his debt before fucking jumping me all cheerful and all 'surprise!"..." She trails off, sobbing. "God I'm so fucking stupid!"

Awkwardly, Nacho extends an arm around her shoulders and pulls her to him. After a second's resistance Mila collapses into his chest, sobbing her heart out. Nacho just holds her, completely out of his element but hoping this is the right thing to do. Her dad. Nacho tries to recall the man's face, see a resemblance there. Maybe the cheekbones? Or actually, the shape of the eyes... The guy had appeared a lot blonder than Mila, though... Perhaps she looks more like her mother?

"Sorry," Mila says, pulling away. She opens the mirror and inspects her ruined mascara. "Gosh."

"So your dad, huh? Do you think I made a good impression?"

She snorts, laughs then shakes her head. 

"Who cares what he thinks?" Her eyes grow misty again and she looks up, trying to stop the tears from falling again.

"Do you want me to drive you home?" Nacho offers, searching for all the things he can actually do for her. "I could get your money back from the lawyer? I can-I can give you money?"

"I'm fine, honestly."

"It's your savings, I can get them back."

"Let him have them, he needed paying, I'm not taking it back."

"You know I do have money," he tries again. "I could give you some. Lend you some, if you prefer."

"No, thank you." She smiles at him, with her eyes all red and puffy. "I'm not with you for your money, you know."

She turns back to her mirror, pulls out a small makeup pouch from her bag and starts sorting out her face. Nacho feels like telling her she still looks beautiful, red nose and all.

"Do you want me to drive you home?" He offers again.

"No thank you. Actually I really feel like a drink now, if you're still up for that?"

"Sure. I'm buying."

"You might have to," she jokes without humour. "Will you drink with me?"

"Sure."

 

*******

Three drinks in and Mila is starting to get angry again, this time at Fring. Her boss had told her her dad was in trouble, and he'd offered to protect him in exchange for her friendship with Nacho. He'd obviously omitted to say her dad had actually left prison. He'd used her need for cash and her language skills to get his business ahead, and he'd used Nacho's attraction to her and her sense of duty towards her family to maneuver her into spying on who is now the only person still loyal to her. She laughs to herself. It's all so fucked up. She's glad she's not been talking to Fring much, pretending that Nacho hardly ever speaks of the cartel to her - which he doesn't really, to be fair, but she knows he would if she asked, and she's not been taking advantage of that. Somewhere along the way, she'd grown to love him, and she's not betraying him. And now, after this, her allegiance has fully and irrevocably shifted. She's with Nacho, and that's the end of it.

Bloody hell, he's attractive.

They're drinking at a corner of the bar, speaking to each other over the loud voices and music around them. It's gone dark outside. Mila is tipsy, and she's feeling very brave, and embarrassingly horny. For him. Stubborn remnants of shyness keep pushing her to talk about anything other than how much she wants to have sex with him, so she rants about her dad, and the war, and the foster care system, and Nacho listens, obligingly, looking a bit inebriated himself, a hand at the top of her thigh again.

"I don't look much like him," she tells Nacho again. "My dad. He's Serb. My mum was Albanian, I look more like her. But I could pass for either." She gestures at her own face.

This, he gathers, is an important piece of information to her. But she's told him that a couple times already, each time with less and less conviction, and he's starting to get the sense that she's dodging what's really hanging unsaid between them: is he still spending the night at hers?

Nacho isn't approaching the topic first, but he's letting his opinion be known by the way he lets his thumb stroke her thigh, and how he's looking at her. She meets his eyes and he sees her blush, so he decides to hell with caution, he's going to make himself clear and leave it to her to do the same. His hand shifts slightly and suddenly his fingers are between her thighs rather than resting chastely on top. He sees her breath catch, and not in a bad way. Emboldened, he gives her thigh a slight squeeze. He feels her legs tighten around his hand, trapping it. No one else exists but her, and he's about to lean in for a kiss.

"Anyway." She babbles on, "how many people have you killed?"

"What?" 

"I've-I've killed a few," she continues, stunning him. "I've shot at about-about ten or fifteen men, I don't know for sure if they lived." She swallows. "I did it to protect myself and my sisters. It was war. I figured you should know."

His eyebrows are raised in surprise and he's completely frozen, his alcohol fogged brain trying to process what she's just said to him.

"I've never told anyone in America." 

His lack of reaction is quickly sobering her up, and Nacho can read the regret as it settles over her lovely face. He shakes himself.

"That's fine," he says, then tries again, "I mean, thank you for...do you, do you wanna talk about it?"

"No, no, I don't really, I like it pushed to the back of my mind, I like to repress the absolute shit out of it. I just- I just like you a lot, and I thought you should know. At least now you know. I won't be offended if you want to leave me."

"I don't want to leave you. Do you- do you want me to leave?"

"No. I want you to do that thing with your hand again."

Two more drinks and they're sitting right against each other, his thumb now occasionally rubbing circles on her sex, through her jeans, and his mouth kissing hers. His erection is painful. He keeps expecting to be told to leave, and suspects the only reason why no one has noticed yet is that the bar is so busy, people everywhere.

At one point he notices that her chin is red from rubbing against his stubble for so long. He apologises.

"It's fine," says Mila. "I love it. I love this," she reaches and rubs her thumb along the dark, overgrown stubble on his chin. Then she leans in and whispers into his ear: "I find it really attractive. It makes me want to lick and bite it."

That is literally the sexiest thing Nacho has ever heard, and he groans, his free hand abandoning his beer to come rest on her throat, his fingers in her hair.

"Let's go," he begs, or demands, he's not quite sure.

"Now?" 

"Yeah. Please."

The taxi ride home is a bit of a blur, he just knows that the driver coughed a few times and that he ignored it because Mila is kissing his neck and he's got his hands in her top.

He's pressing against her back and kissing her neck as she unlocks her door, then in a stumble they're in her bedroom and he's seating on her bed, kicking his pants off and pulling his shirt off, and he barely manages to get a condom on before she climbs on his lap, wearing nothing but her bra, and in a heartbeat he's crushing her to him, one hand roaming her back and the other digging into her ass, his face buried in her breasts, and he's groaning helplessly as she sits herself on him and he's inside her and she's moving against him. She's very, very close to climaxing, gasping and whimpering and riding him, rubbing herself against him, and all Nacho can do is pretty much try and stop himself from coming first. He nearly fails, feeling his own release tense his entire body as Mila's thighs shake around him and he feels wetness trickle down to his balls. It all seems to happen very quickly, like the last few months have all been some sort of agonising foreplay leading up to this. A cry escapes her and her hold on him relaxes and her movements start to slow. Both his hands come to hold onto her ass as he slams himself up into her two more times, giving in to his own need and grunting his release. They remain in that position for some time, holding on to each other, kissing softly, then get into bed and cuddle, yes, _cuddle_ , taking their time now the urgency has passed.

When he wakes up some time after, in the dark, he's not quite sure if he hasn't dreamt it all.

But Mila is here, in his arms, asleep, naked, warm, soft, and Nacho feels in love. He holds her tighter and drifts back into sleep.

******

Mila's making coffee. She's got herself out of Nacho's arms, put on some clothes and sneaked off to the bathroom, and now she's making coffee. She's... Well, she just can't stop blushing. And smiling. And blushing. And smiling. And blushing!

What on earth possessed her, the night before? She'd not expected their first time to be so... What would be the word? _Explosive_? 

She's really surprised herself. She thought she'd be a nervous wreck, and she'd intended to let him take charge and lead, secretly turned on by the idea of letting him dominate, how safe she'd feel underneath him... But nope, instead she's turned into some sort of, of lady cat in heat, and she's all but jumped him like a horny teenager. She's mortified. She's kind of proud. But mostly, she's mortified. 

Poor guy, probably hadn't expected to be humped then snored on... 

Probably thinks she's clearly a spinster who hasn't had her itch itched in a long, loooong ti-

"Morning."

She jumps.

"Oh you scared me!"

"Sorry," he's smiling.

He's right there, shirtless, looking even bigger now in the daylight. She tries not to stare, he details her naked legs.

"Coffee?" She squeaks.

She brings him a cup, and he grabs her waist to pull her to him. A few kisses later, he whispers that last night was amazing, and she awkwardly brushes it off.

"Sorry it was so quick," she apologises, escaping to the hob. "Egg? Bacon?"

He says nothing for a moment, then she hears him cough.

"Just so you know, I can last longer."

She pauses with an egg mid air, then suddenly understands what he means.

"Oh no!" She exclaims, turning to face him. "No, no, no, you were great, I meant me! I'm sorry I- I can do better, I just... I don't know what came over me, I can be slower, I'm so sorry I didn't mean you-"

"Relax," he interrupts, smiling. 

"I just sort of... Jumped you, I'm sorry I was all 'wam, bam, thank you ma'am', I-I just really wanted you, I guess."

"Can't say I'm complaining," he chuckles. "I was teasing you." 

Mila returns to her eggs and bacon.

"Besides," she hears him move to come stand right behind her, hands on her, lifting her top up. "We've got plenty of time."

He goes out that day and she goes to work, then, at her timid request, he spends the night again. They have sex, slower this time, taking their time to build up a rhythm and discover each other properly. This, Nacho learns, is just as hot. He's on top that night, in control, watching her come as her nails dig into his lower back and her mouth calls his name. It's perfect. He discovers two nasty grazes, one along her flank, the other her hip, left by bullets. He asks if she wants to talk and she says no, she would rather not, but maybe one day she will.

The next night he stays away, needing to practise for The Switch. 

Once Hector's pills are swapped for fake ones he returns to Mila, but his mind is elsewhere, and he hopes she won't notice. She does, of course.

"Is something wrong?" She whispers to him in the dark, as her head rests on his chest.

And then, feeling like a complete idiot for doing so, but not finding it in himself to care enough to stop, Nacho whispers his plan. How he got rid of Tuco. How Fring is driving Hector mad. How he, Nacho, is getting Hector out of the picture, for the sake of his dad. How he's switched the pills but now he has to wait. He even tells her how his dad hates him - and there his voice breaks and he has to stop speaking.

Mila listens, saying nothing, then she shifts against him and starts telling him about Fring. She tells him that Fring has been having her translate documents, which she now can safely assume are about extending his own business - of drugs, not chicken. She buries her face in the crook of his neck as she tells him that that's how she raised the money to pay for her dad's lawyer. She tells him that Fring has not given her any work in a while, and that at his request she's returned ("until further notice") the laptop he'd given her, and Nacho tries to reassure her that Fring has his hands full with what's going on here and that it is likely the deal with the Serbs fell through. He promises he won't tell his own cartel about what she's just told him. Emotionally, he promises her they'll both be far away from it all soon.

"Be careful," she cries, holding on to him for dear life.

She doesn't tell Nacho that Fring had also asked her to spy on him, and that he'd probably love to hear about the Hector thing, but that she never in a million years would think to betray him now, now that she's fallen in love with him. She should have done.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just three little things:
> 
> 1\. Be nice, it's hard to write the deed!! Originally intended a long winded and complex and titillating and position changing scene, but then thought it wouldn't fit Mila's character and would seem unrealistic. She's more of a "do or do not" type of person. 
> 
> 2\. Mila either drinks a lot or not at all - don't be like her. It's not wise ;) 
> 
> 3\. Mila comes from a war, but she won't address it much, and I won't dwell on it, mainly because of what I mentioned earlier in terms of the story being about Nacho and their romance, not her troubled past. "Repressing" stuff is not healthy either, but Mila's not perfect. That's all folks!


	13. Nachos

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Mila is backed into three different corners.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Right, this is painful now. 
> 
> Very tricky to write, I hope it makes sense. 
> 
> Thank you again for sticking with this story, and I hope you enjoy :) thanks for all the comments, they absolutely make my day, I even check my inbox like twice a day (is that a bit sad?).

When Hector collapses, it's like everything lifts off, gravity stops, and for a brief moment Nacho gets a taste of freedom. True freedom.

It ends as quickly as it started, and when the chicken man, Fring, tells him Juan Bolsa wants to see them, all of Nacho's anxiety comes crashing back down on him. Does he know?

He paces back and forth, sweating, aching, wanting to just say fuck it and run, run far, take his cash, take his dad, take his Mila, and just fucking disappear. Can Arturo tell?

When they just get told to keep running things, when it becomes obvious that Juan Bolsa suspects nothing, it's just too good to be true, and Nacho vaguely knows that, but the hopeful part of him just wants to ignore his doubts and just enjoy his victory. 

He's done it. 

He's got Tuco Salamanca locked up.

He's floored Hector Salamanca. 

He's freed his dad.

And he's fucking getting away with it.

 

The first to know about it is Mila.

He waits a whole four days before heading to her place, waits until he's got rid of the pills, even goes to his dad first, despite knowing how painful that will be. He'd planned on waiting a whole two weeks, so it wouldn't look like he was celebrating anything, but somehow that little bit of caution goes out the window.

He gets to hers one late evening, and she opens the door for him, no makeup, in a long t-shirt. She'd been watching some TV, and it smells good in the kitchen.

"What are you making?" Nacho asks, waiting for the right moment to tell her his news. He draws the curtains to the living room and kitchen area, not that she notices. He goes to sit on the arm of her sofa, where he can get a good view of her as she moves about the kitchen.

"Um...nachos."

"Seriously?"

"...yeah?" She blushes, then gives him a mock challenging glare. "So what? Do you want some?"

"Sure."

She's only wearing panties under that shirt, and no bra, he can tell. Her legs are amazing. Not long and athletic like he's been conditioned to enjoy, no, shorter and thicker, and incredibly sensual. He details her body under that shapeless t-shirt. Slim waist, full breasts, the slightest little hint of a belly. She's attractive but not in the way that would feature in a music video, or a porn magazine. And yet, everything about her is soft and womanly. It moves him, makes him feel like a man. His eyes go to the curve of soft, warm skin, where her neck meets her shoulder. 

"Stop staring," she calls him out, her back turned to him.

"Why?" He smiles back.

"Makes me nervous."

When he says nothing, Mila turns to face him from her spot in the kitchen. 

"Should I be nervous?" She asks.

He stands and walks over, stopping a few steps away.

"Hector collapsed," he whispers, "the other night. During a meet with the chicken man."

Her eyes widen at his words.

"Is he dead?"

"No, but he's in a coma. He's not gonna come round anytime soon. And even if he does, he's not gonna be in any shape to run the business. My dad's free."

Mila lets out a breath.

"And... You... You got away with it?"

"Looks like it," shrugs Nacho, smile threatening to break through.

"So... What happens now?"

He doesn't reply, instead closing the gap between them, placing his hands on her arms and gently pushing her back, kissing her, trapping her against the wall with his body.

It begins somewhat gently, because it still hangs unsaid in the air that the last time he'd pushed her half naked against a hard surface hadn't exactly been pleasant for either of them, but soon it becomes a lot more heated. He uses his hand first, teasing her until her breath catches. He pulls a condom out of his wallet as Mila opens his trousers, hands trembling slightly, her eyes meeting his as her cheeks redden beautifully. 

She's out of her element, having never had sex standing, but he is very happy to lead. Where he'd normally would have planned to be slow and considerate so as not to overwhelm her with the novelty of it, the elation of having escaped Hector gets to him and he all but pounds into her, hands gripping her leg up as she steadies herself onto him and the kitchen worktop. His face in the crook of her neck, a hand resting against her throat (very risky move, he knows). He's relieved to feel her gasp and shake with pleasure, no trace of fear there, as he, for what feels like the first time in years, just _lets go_

 

When it's over, Mila's legs hardly support her and she grab onto him to steady herself. Nacho does his best not to bask too much in the actual _glow_ emanating from her bright eyes and red cheeks, nor the "wow" that comes out in a breathless whisper. She repeats it a few times, runs a hand over her face.

"You alright?" Nacho asks, chuckling.

"Yeah," and damn, her voice has gone raspy. "More than alright." She laughs and wraps her arms around his neck. "Oh I'm definitely craving those nachos, now."

He stays the night, half of it spent cuddling on the sofa and eating nachos, the other half spent in bed with her head on his chest and his arm around her.

A week later, Arturo is killed before his eyes, and Nacho goes from one leash to another.

******

Mila's day at work goes as normal, apart from the fact that Fring is in.

He greets them all, compliments their work, then goes round and picks up some litter from the parking lot. 

Mila does the floors, then the tables, and she starts on the tills. She takes stupidly complicated orders with genuine mirth, even chit chats with her coworkers, something she's never really managed to do. Not sober, anyway. Today though, she's in a such a good mood, because she's got Nacho, and Nacho's happy, and he wants her. It makes everything seem possible. Even for her to interact like a normal person.

That evening, as she gets into her car, Mila catches Fring watching her from afar. Startled, she waves at him, and he waves back. Mila drives home.

She unlocks her door and goes in, putting her jacket up on the kitchen counter, dropping her bag on the floor. When she turns, her heart nearly stops.

"Oh my god!"

Nacho is there, sitting on her sofa.

"What the hell!" She lets out a nervous, slightly panicked laugh. "How-why-?"

"Good day at work?"

His tone is tranquil, but not quite calm. It's giving off a weird vibe... It's the same kind of tranquility you'd expect from a murky river, right before the crocodile snatches the oblivious little antelope.

"Fine, yeah. Are you-?" She takes a little look around.

"I'm alone." 

His thumb and index go to pinch the bridge of his nose.

"What's wrong?"

She feels like walking to him, but something stops her. Something that smells an awful lot like fear. Why is he so calm?

"How long?"

"How long what?"

"How long have you been talking to Gustavo Fring?"

Mila's mind goes completely blank.

"Huh? How long? When I first met you? When we went out? When did you tell him about Hector, huh?"

Her silence must be driving him insane, because his countenance is cracking, and he's standing, walking towards her, asking more and more questions.

"So what's the deal, is he giving you money? Did he pay to get your dad out? What was the deal, exactly? Get up close? Keep me keen? Spy on the Salamancas?"

"I didn't-"

"Didn't what?"

"I just didn't!"

"You just didn't what? Screw me for information? _Get paid_ to screw me for information?"

He stares into her eyes, harsh, unforgiving, almost shaking with hurt and anger.

"No!" Mila takes a step back, gathers her courage, picks her ammo and goes to fight. "I'm not taking any money from Fring, he only ever paid me for translating his documents."

"So you're doing it for free?" He's mocking her, now. Mila gets angry.

"I'm not doing it at all!" She yells. "Look, he saw you looking at me, he saw that you had a thing for me and he asked me to keep you interested and to keep an ear out in case Hector decided to come back." 

His eyes shut. His jaw sets.

"Since when?"

"He asked me the day after you, Arturo and Hector came to Los Pollos and terrorised us. He said it would help him be prepared in case you guys returned. I asked if he was trying to whore me out and he said no."

"But you did it anyway. What was in it for you? You just, what? Fancied a bit of Latino?"

That hurts her.

"I didn't whore myself out to you." Mila says through gritted teeth. "I didn't. He said he would make sure my dad was safe in prison. Said my dad was having issues with other inmates. I had no reason to think he was lying. Obviously, now I realise he must have been lying, because my dad is out."

As she speaks, Nacho starts pacing around, rubbing his head and his face and trying to keep it together, trying not to snap.

"I stopped talking to him very quickly. You never said anything anyway, and after you helped me with Alban, I just couldn't-"

"You're lying."

"I'm not-"

"You're lying. You're still talking to him. You told Fring about my plan to get Hector down."

"What are even talking about!?"

"He knows! Arturo is dead. They fucking bagged him in front of me, do you get that? Do you understand? My dad could get killed, do you understand that?"

"What? I.. I never told him that. I stopped talking to him ages ago. I would never have said anything to him, especially not after-"

"After what? After you screwed me? THEN HOW ELSE WOULD HE FUCKING KNOW?!" He roars at her, noting the way she flinches back, how her eyes widen with fear. Still, at the same time, her shoulders square up.

"Maybe he knows because he's got eyes everywhere. Maybe you made a mistake. Have you ever considered that? Maybe it's you that messed up? Maybe you left evidence? Maybe he fucking read it on your face? Why is that so unbelievable to you? Why is it more acceptable for you to break into my house and call me a whore?" Tears are running down Mila's face, but she's found her voice. And she raises it. "I never screwed you over. I never even questioned you. You chased me, not the other way around. I didn't want anything to do with you. You convinced me otherwise and somewhere along the lines I fell in love with you. I'm the one who got screwed here, because everything I did, I did to help my dad, and now I have no money, and you think I'm a whore. Not to mention the fact that Fring is probably going to be mad when he finds out I knew about your plan and I didn't tell him. But hey, at least if he kills me you'll know I was telling you the truth."

Nacho shakes his head, confused. Feeling himself about to snap again, he storms out of her place, half hoping she'd call him back. 

She lets him go.

 

*********

"She's here." Says Tyrus. "Twenty minutes late, fifth time this week. So much for Employee of the Month, huh?"

"Bring her in."

Fring stands in the office, at the Los Pollos in Albuquerque, with his back to the door. He turns when he hears a set of footsteps entering behind him.

The girl is there, looking like nothing much at all, holding his gaze. 

Mila Besjana Kolesar, from Kosovo. Refugee. Born of a Serbian father, Josef, a Christian, and of an Albanian mother, Debora, a Muslim. Second of five daughters. All four sisters were dead, killed during the war, likely raped and murdered. The mother had been killed too. Only Mila and Josef had made it to America, and Josef, who'd been a university lecturer before the war, had not been able to endure losing his dignity upon being stripped of that title. Broken by the war, he'd turned into a criminal, did prison time. Mila had gone into foster care, and she'd done everything in her power since then to just disappear. Be invisible. No friends, no boyfriends, not even a pet, nothing. The report from foster care suggested PTSD should be investigated, but no actual psychological support had ever been offered, not after an initial assessment which stated that, when asked how she felt about the whole ordeal, Mila had said:  
"I'm ok, because I've switched all my emotions off. In Kosovo I pictured a switch in my head, and it was the switch to pain and fear and sadness, and I just pictured myself switching it all off." If that statement hadn't set off a huge alarm bell, Fring doesn't know what would.

Fring suspects she can be a good liar, if the situation requires it. He also suspects she can pull a trigger. If the situation had been different, he might have had some form of respect for her. For now though, he despises her. Stupid little whore.

"Miss Kolesar," he starts.

"Mr Fring, I know what you're going to say, and I just want you to know that I honestly, really didn't know."

Fring raises an eyebrow, surprised. He'd not expected her to be upfront about it. He'd expected her to cry.

"Didn't know?"

"He never told me. I genuinely thought he was still in jail. Just ask his lawyer, I even paid him the other week. I've got no money now. I'd never have done that if I had known he was out."

Gus scowls. What is she playing at?

"I'm so sorry." Mila's are wide and pleading, looking into his without flinching. "I know this must look like I was using you, but I really wasn't. I had no idea. I really thought I needed the money and I really thought he needed the protection."

Is she...is she referring to her father? Does she think Gus is going to confront her about her father not being in prison? Is she that stupid she does not realise he's known all along, and that she's the one who was being used? Is this an act? Could she be that good a liar?

His eyes meet Tyrus's, above the girl's head. His right hand man gives him a bored look and a shrug.

"I see." Gus says, carefully. He's going to put a bit of pressure on her, and see how she reacts. After all, he knows from Victor that Nacho Varga has been visiting Mila regularly since Hector collapsed. 

He walks to his desk and sits, motioning for her to do the same.

"That is not what I was referring to."

"It's not?"

"No." Fring's tone is harsher, now. He does not like being messed with. "Did you know that Hector Salamanca has collapsed, about two weeks ago?"

"...yes."

"You are?" He's startled again, having expected denial.

"Nacho told me."

"And you did not think that this would be the sort of information I would be requiring you to share with me?"

His eyes are boring into hers, searching, scanning, menacing, but she holds.

"I thought you already knew," she says, eyebrows furrowed. "Nacho said you were there when it happened."

"And what else did Nacho Varga tell you?"

"Uh... Not much, really. Just that that old man collapsed during a meet with you."

"What about the pills?"

"The pills?"

"The pills Nacho Varga swapped for fake ones, the pills that led to Hector Salamanca's collapse in the first place?"

"He didn't mention any pills." She sits up in her chair. "What did he do with pills?"

Gus looks down at his hands, the desk, trying to reign in his temper.

"Mr Fring, if that man is gone, that's good, isn't it? It means he won't be bothering you again, right?"

Gus does not reply, instead looking everywhere but at her, until he feels he is able to face her again without wanting to hit her.

"Indeed," he smiles. "Are you still involved with Nacho Varga?"

She blushes.

"He broke up with me, about a week ago."

"Did he now?"

"Yes. He... Told me some it's not you it's me bullshit, but I think it's because I don't want to uh... Well, I just... It's hard for me because of what happened back in...anyway, we had an argument, and he left. It's probably for the best, I'm relieved, really."

That smells like a lie, but Fring has had enough. 

"I see. Well, Mila, thank you for your hard work here. There is another matter I wanted to discuss with you this morning."

"Yes sir?"

"You have been late repeatedly all week, despite my words at briefing on Monday. I will give you another week to find another job, and then I want you gone."

Mila nods, stands up. 

"I can be better-"

"Leave."

"Sorry, Mr Fring."

After she leaves the room, Tyrus throws him a look.

"You know she's lying, right? Want me to put some surveillance on her?"

"Just keep an eye on Varga. She's served her purpose. If nothing else, she's still a pressure point. And call in Ehrmantraut."

Tyrus nods, and Fring turns to face the window again.

He's got someone else to confront.


	14. Time Jump

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Mila visits The Crib.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still going with canon!
> 
> Thank you for reading :)

Fring is very, very smart.

He's put Nacho, Victor, Tyrus and Arturo in a car, and he's getting them to set up a fake hit on Nacho and Arturo. Nacho will get shot, and he will ring for help. He'll pin it on a rival gang. Then, he'll remain with the Salamancas, and he'll be Fring's mole. 

The last 24 hours had been nothing short of crazy, for Nacho. He'd seen Arturo get killed, he'd had a few hours to mull over what had gone wrong and he'd come to the horrific conclusion that Mila was probably the one to have sold him out. Then he'd confronted her, and now here he was, on his way to the gallows, more enslaved than ever before. 

On the drive to the set up location, Nacho cannot get Mila's face out of his head. She'd denied it, as he'd been expecting, but even so, part of him wanted to believe in her. Perhaps he had been sloppy? Perhaps Fring had seen him picking up the pills after Hector had collapsed? It seemed far fetched, the easiest explanation being that she'd ratted on him... And yet, if Gus had been so intent on keeping Hector alive, and if Mila had ratted on him, then why wait until Nacho's plan had come into effect? Was the chicken man that confident in his CPR skills? Nacho thinks about his words carefully, and asks:

"How did he know? About me?"

The two hit men, Tyrus and Victor, say nothing for a while, staring ahead at the endless road surrounded by flat, burnt desert land.

"How do you think he knew?" Tyrus asks.

Nacho shrugs, looking out the window.

"Read it in a glass ball?" He ventures.

Tyrus stares at him through the rear view mirror. Nacho feigns indifference.

"You have told someone, ain't you?" 

The two hit men exchange a look, bored and tired on Tyrus' end, and stern and mean on Victor's part. There's a vague vibe of 'told you so' hanging in the air between them.

Nacho panics. 

"No, although someone did find out," he says, thinking fast. "But I wouldn't have expected him to go yapping to anyone."

There. He hasn't exactly named Mike, but who else could he be talking about? The use of the male pronoun catches Tyrus' ear, but there's no telling whether he's fallen for it. As for the guilt, Nacho will have to deal with it later. Plus, maybe it really was the old man who ratted on him.

"Yeah, well, the boss didn't mention no rat," says Tyrus. "But... We have got a couple names we got told to round up, once we're done here. Don't you worry about it."

Nacho's blood runs cold. 

And when he gets shot, the second time, and lies in the sand bleeding out, he makes the call to the Salamancas as agreed... But before he's too weak to do anything other than breathe, he sends Mila a single text.

******

Now one of the first things Mila did when Nacho stormed out of her house, is turn her phone off. This was so that she would not be tempted to try and ring him to explain herself some more, and so that she would not be tempted to stare at it endlessly, in the hope of a miraculous phone call from Nacho telling her that he's sorry and he was wrong and that he's coming over to make it all better.

A full week and a half go by without Mila touching her phone.

She doesn't sleep very well, hardly eats. She goes to work, a bit later every day, and comes home. One day one of her flat mates is actually at home, and Mila decides that she's moving away. She wants to live alone. She wants to get out of this place where everywhere she looks she sees how she got a taste of what normal relationships are like, before having it be taken away from her.

She starts looking for somewhere else to live, and, after her meeting with Fring, looks for another job too. She'd not found it in herself to be scared, or nervous, as she lied to the drug lord to his face, whilst a man twice her height stood behind her. She'd like to think she's turned that switch off again, the one that got her out of Kosovo in one piece, but when night draws in and there's nothing left to do but think, Mila's head fills with Nacho, and she gets angry, offended, and very, very sad.

She nearly leaves Albuquerque altogether, but doesn't quite find the strenght to, and this frustrates her. 

"Not so insensitive after all huh," A voice whispers in her brain. Mila shakes her head. It is Iona's voice, full of the 'big sister privilege' it always used to have. "Flick that switch all you want girl, you told him you love him, and he walked out."

For the first time in years, Mila wishes she had friends, so she wouldn't have to drink alone.

Desperate times call for desperate measures though, so Mila contacts her dad. The first time they meet they just drink together, in near silence. Later they make this a regular thing. He agrees for her to move in with him while she figures things out.

The next morning, as she nurses a headache, is when she sees Nacho's text.

 

******

It takes her a good minute to work out that the series of numbers are coordinates. Takes her another couple of weeks to try and find the spot. 

First, she's had to move all her stuff to her dad's. He's got himself a job as a gardener - a favour from one of his Serbian friends before prison - and is all too happy to move in with her in an actual place, sick of the motel he'd been staying in. They get a bungalow. Alban bloody moves in too, or so it seems, which means Mila does everything in her power to spend as little time at 'home' as she can. She looks for another job, or two. In her spare time she stares at Nacho's message. In her drunk time, she reads his old texts.

Mila doesn't know how coordinates work, so, she asks in a camping/DIY shop and the girl at the counter sells her a map and helps her decode where she's supposed to go.

"You might find a ring there," says the girl, and Mila laughs drily.

She drives into the desert and has to hike the rest of the way, onto flat, hard, rocky land. She gets to the location but there's nothing at all there, so, Mila returns to the DIY shop and buys a shovel. This time, the girl at the counter stays quiet.

Mila digs around for about twenty minutes before she hits something soft, and for a dizzying second she thinks it's a body. Thankfully, it's only a bag, and when Mila opens it she finds roughly $50,000 in cash.

Mila lets out a series a swear words in English, then Serbian, then Albanian. What the fuck is she supposed to do with that? Is this a gift? A test? An insult? As in, here's your cash, you whore? Is he wanting her to hide it for him? Why just send this? And nothing else? Was he expecting her to contact him over it? No chance, she's not contacting him first, he'll have to just ring her if he wants his cash. 

Mila takes the bag, goes home to the bungalow and hides the cash in a loose bit of ceiling in the bathroom. Then she decides to forget about it. Nacho will have to come and collect it, if he wants it. Hopefully neither her dad nor Alban will find out about it.

Nacho never comes. Six months in, and she's got no news, nothing. It's like he's gone completely M.I.A.

Getting over him proves to be a lot harder than she would have thought, and Mila makes the semi conscious decision never to open herself up again. At the first job she lands, another waitressing one, closer to her new place, once the necessary introductions are made Mila makes a point of not speaking to anyone about anything other than work. No way, she's not connecting to anyone ever again.

One night, as she leaves, Mila notices a note on the board:

"Come celebrate my 40th! Dress code: NOICE. Husband and kids: NOIPE. Write your names by Friday please!!"

Impulsively, Mila writes her name down.

 

****

As time passes, Nacho's wounds heal but his mental state just gets worse. If he thought he'd been getting numb before, this was nothing compared to the great blank space that fills his heart and soul.

He just does as he's told. As he's expected to. 

He's in Hector's chair now, he enforces. He gets the crib, the car. The girls. Everything he used to want and none of it is right, all of it is hollow.

He tries not to think of his dad, tries to distance himself. Tries not to think of Mila. She must have fled far away, with all that cash he's directed her to. He tries not to wonder where she is, what she's doing. Who she's doing it with. If she's thinking about him, if she's forgiven him. What would have happened if he hadn't walked away then, if he'd taken all the cash and tried to run sooner, with her, and his dad. No point thinking of all that, so Nacho stops.

Hope isn't quite dead though, despite the loss of Mila. Nacho has two fake IDs, one for his dad and one for himself, and he fantasises about when he'll get his dad, and run, run far from the Salamancas and the chicken man. And who knows, maybe one day he'll happen to walk past a girl he recognises, and she'll see him too, and- but there's no point thinking about that.

Domingo is learning, watching Nacho. Like every Tuesday, they go to his place to pick up some gear before going collecting. Nacho knows Domingo loves to gawk at his place, and the girls.

When he comes in, Domingo not far behind, Nacho only sees one girl sitting on the couch in front of the TV. The other one must be in the kitchen. In fact, here she is, stepping into his line of vision, wearing exactly the same stuff she had on the day before (or is she?).

"Hi babe," she says, sweet and relieved. Nervous. Nacho frowns. 

"What's wrong?" He asks.

"There's a chick here, says she knows you, and she's brought you some stuff back?"

Nacho's frown deepens, and suddenly he knows exactly who it is. Heart beating wildly, head going dizzy, he takes a couple of step into the large, hardly ever used kitchen and sees her.

She's there. 

Standing by the immaculate sink, looking at the untouched collection of cooking knives.

Her hair is a bit longer.

Mila.

He must have said her name aloud, because she turns, and meets his eyes. Nacho is frozen into place. 

"Hey," she says, without smiling.

"What are you doing here?" 

"Yeah," she snorts, takes her hands out of her pockets and shakes her head. "What am I doing here, huh? Now I get why we never went back to yours."

He frowns, confused.

"Met your girlfriends?" She ventures.

"They're... Girls who live here now." He says, not knowing how else to explain it. What is she doing here? 

"Quick turnaround, then." Mila comments, smiling without any humour. "Double turnaround, in fact. Though I suppose, in terms of weight, the two of them put together probably equals to one of me-"

"I meant what are you doing here in Albuquerque?"

It must have sounded harsher than he expected, because she starts, loses the fake smile.

"I live here. Well, I've moved, and I got a new job, but I live here. In fact I'm about to move place again, and I got all this shit lying around, so I thought I'd bring it back." She picks up a black bag from one of the stools, and sets it on top the kitchen island. "Seeing as you never could be bothered to collect it yourself."

It's the cash. The cash he'd tried to give to her, for her to run away with.

She...hasn't run?

When he fails to react, Mila pushes past him and starts walking towards the door.

"Well that's it, I'll get going then, leave you to your coke whores."

Nacho wakes up. Forgets Domingo is right there, and the girls. He goes after her.

"Mila, wait."

"No."

"Wait, please." He grabs her arm.

She jerks it out of his reach, but stops and turns to look at him.

"What?" She barks. "Do you wanna count it?"

"I-"

"What the fuck is wrong with you? No news, nothing, for nearly a year, and I was starting to get worried, can you believe that? I looked for you. Despite you having been a complete dickhead to me, I looked for you. Wanted to make sure you were ok. Wanna know how I found you? Your dad told me you lived here." She laughs. "Didn't tell me about the two chicks, though." She looks around at his place. "Cool artwork, though. Real MTV crib you've got here. My god, what the hell, Nacho, huh? Does your dad know about all this? Look at you, quite the drug kingpin now aren't you, in your pimp house-"

"You know what, lady, he's actually a really sweet guy-"

Mila positively explodes.

" _Why don't you just snort some more coke and shut the fuck up?!_ " She shouts at the girl who's piped up. "In fact, no, don't snort more coke, have a read of this." She pulls out a piece of paper from her jeans pocket and a pencil from the other and writes a phone number down, then violently sets the piece of paper on the stand by the front door. "This is the phone number for the nearest Women' s Shelter. Call them."

She turns to leave and Nacho grabs her arm, but Mila shakes him off again, then pushes him.

"Don't touch me."

She storms out, and he sees her getting into a car parked a few houses down. She drives off, never once looking back.

*

"She still wants you, man."

The main fucking problem with Domingo is that he never knows when to just shut up.

"Shut up."

"I'm just saying. She looked for you, and she brought you your stuff back in person. Visited your dad." He snorts. "She was totally jealous... I mean, I thought she was gonna bite that girl's head off! ..."

"Domingo just shut the fuck up. You never saw her, do you understand?"

"Yeah, sure. Don't worry about it man."

*

Finding Mila is easier than he'd expected. 

She's moved house, changed job and phone number, and Nacho's only bet is the fact that she'd randomly happen to know the phone number to the Women's Shelter. He goes there, one day, and waits. About an hour later she arrives at the cafe right opposite. From where she works, she can read the phone number written across the sign to the Shelter. During her break, she walks over, and soon a woman comes out of the shelter holding a sandwich and the two of them eat their lunch together, chatting.

So, she's made a friend. 

Nacho leaves before she can notice his bright red car.

He does his best to stay away, and it lasts nearly a full month.

He shows up at her work one Tuesday evening.


End file.
